


Of Power and Pain

by jessethejoyful



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternative Universe - Kingdom, M/M, Slow Burn, Sorry About It
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2019-09-24 21:47:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 35,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17108699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessethejoyful/pseuds/jessethejoyful
Summary: Tyrannus Basilton Pitch is the only son and heir to the queen of the kingdom of Watford. After her untimely death, the Archmage Davy is placed at the helm of the kingdom as its steward, until the day the young prince will come of age and ascend to the throne. But as his eighteenth birthday approaches, Basilton finds himself in mortal danger, with only the apprentice of the Archmage, a scholarly magister, and a nobleman's daughter, to help him. If these unlikely allies can't overturn the sinister plot lurking within the castle, it could result in the ruin of the kingdom - and the end of their lives.





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! So I know this is super short, but I just want to get the premise of this story out there and set things up. The first real part will be coming really soon!

In the darkness of a still night, the castle slept. And that was the problem; even the Royal Guard, assigned to protect the rooms of the queen and her family, slept at their posts, slumped against the wall and snoring peacefully. So the shade passed by them unchallenged, creeping through the cracks in the door silently, like smoke. 

It materialized on the other side of the door, solidifying into something resembling the figure of a man, looking around in thought. The royal apartments were large, lavish, and easy to navigate, so the shade’s mission was fairly straightforward. It glided across the receiving room and flooded once more into the cracks of another door, this one leading to the room in which slept the queen, her husband, and their infant son. 

But of course, it could not be so simple. Instead of finding the queen slumbering, the shade found her standing at the foot of her bed, illuminated by several candles, arms crossed and brow furrowed in determination. Behind her, her husband held the child close to his chest, both of them fast asleep. 

“Good evening,” she said casually, as if she was meeting a friend in a pub. “Come into the light, so I may see whom I am to face.” 

The shade did not move, did not even fully materialize. It spoke to her in a garbled voice. “How did you know?” 

Queen Natasha snorted. “I am the ruler of a kingdom of magic. Did you truly believe the queen not to have some power of her own? More than even you, perhaps? As soon as Basilton drifted off without a fuss, I knew something was amiss, and warded myself against it. You kept me waiting for some time.” 

There was a pause in which the shade flickered, unsure. “I’m impressed. It would take a great amount of power to conceal your power from the people of the court and the magisters.” 

“I’m well aware,” the queen said drily, pushing herself upright. She was tall, elegant, and tonight, brimming with power. The shade could sense it, nearly shrank away from the task it had been sent to fulfill. “Come, then. If we’re to come to blows, don’t delay it. I would prefer to get this over with.” 

Her words hardened the shade’s resolve. It became solid, prepared to do what it was there for. The purpose it had been created under. A dagger made of shadow appeared in its hand as it came into the light of the candles, and Natasha’s face twisted with anger. “Of course it’s you. I knew it would be you.” She pulled a knife from behind her, nearly as long as her forearm. “You will not succeed.” 

But the queen didn’t know how much had gone into the plan. The shade started forward, lifting its weapon, muttering words of power, and sent spikes of panic through the queen. Instead of fending off the blade, she was trapped, frozen by spells and unable to halt the passage of the dagger that lodged deep into her chest. She fell to the floor. 

With its purpose completed, the shade dissipated into the air with a sound like a sigh. 

The prince woke, his cries echoing through the sleeping castle. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crown Prince meets magister apprentice - and both of them are kind of impressed.

**BASILTON**

The Great Hall is loud, as always. The queue of people lined up before the throne is long and filled with the chattering peasantry, all here to ask something of the crown. To settle land disputes, attempt to curry favor for a merchant agreement, anything that will give them an excuse to enter the castle and waste time.

I don’t know how Davy stands it - or why he forces me to attend. This sort of arduous task is something a judge, or even a clerk, should be handling, not the Crown Prince and the Archmage. I’ve told him as much, time and time again, but Davy insists that it’s important for a ruler to hear from all his subjects. It’s another part of his reforms, new rules that he’s been implementing during his time as the kingdom’s steward.

When I become king, this will be one of the first tasks I get rid of. Or perhaps I’ll assign Davy to handle it, since he seems to enjoy it so much.

As another farmer approaches the dais, where Davy is standing on a stair, and asks the Archmage what he should name his new barn dog, I let out a groan and push up from the throne. Everyone else seated in the Hall stands as I do, and silence falls quickly. Davy turns to look at me, annoyance clearly etched across his features.

“Lord Prince,” he says in his stuffy voice. “Is something the matter?”

I huff out a breath, then put on my most aristocratic expression. “No, Archmage. I’ve simply forgotten about an engagement I was to undertake this morning. I must leave at once.”

It’s clear I’ve not fooled him, but even he would not attempt to call out a lie from the Crown Prince in front of such a crowd.

“Of course,” he replies sardonically, though I know I’m the only one who could pick out the sarcasm in his tone. “Best hurry to it, then.” I resist the urge to roll my eyes, nod once, then stride out the side door that sits just behind and next to the throne. The small room it leads to is empty, though the fire still crackles in the grate, and I’m thankful for a moment to be alone. It’s strictly for my use - not even Davy is allowed in here without my permission, making it the only place I can ever truly find a moment of peace.

So when the other door, which opens to the main part of the castle, flies open so hard that it slams against the wall behind it, I nearly jump out of my skin. I’m ripping my sword from the scabbard attached to my hip, prepared to defend myself - but the boy in the door looks nearly as confused as I am.

“Oh,” he says thickly, looking around. “This isn’t the bathroom.” His gaze lands on me, and his eyes widen. “Your Prince - Lord Highness - ! I - er, my apologies!” I’ve never seen this boy before, but clearly he recognizes who I am, as he dips into a hasty bow, sending his mess of curly hair flopping over as he does. He’s wearing the purple doublet of the School of Magic, labelling him as an apprentice magister, but I can’t fathom what he’s doing barging into rooms in the castle - the school is practically on the other side of the city.

“Who are you?” I snarl at him, shoving my sword back into its scabbard and glaring at him. He looks startled at my tone. Good.

“I’m - er, I’m the Archmage’s apprentice, Lord Prince. I’m the - Simon, I’m Simon.” He’s stammering, which would be endearing if it wasn’t so annoying. I forgot about Davy taking on an apprentice a few weeks ago, after the boy apparently appeared in the capital, leaking power he had no control over and wandering the streets. He was supposedly stronger than even the Archmage, but with no formal teaching - and apparently, no ability to speak in full sentences - it was dangerous to just place him into the normal magic classes. The introductory classes are all full of small children, all just coming into their powers, so Davy took the boy himself and is training him to take his place someday.

Or so I’d heard. There are so many rumors surrounding the Archmage’s apprentice, it’s hard to know what to believe. I can feel his magic though - it’s rolling off of him in waves and making me a little giddy. There’s a lot of it.

But naturally, no one mentioned that he’s dead handsome, and an idiot, to boot. He’s still standing in the doorway, staring at me. I open my mouth to snap at him again, but in the same moment, someone suddenly appears behind him and grabs his arm.

“There you are, Simon! Stop wandering off!” It’s a short girl with wild purple hair, folded into a precarious bun atop her head, massive spectacles, and wearing the green robes of a magister scholar. “Sorry about him, he’s just -” She looks into the room, spots me, and lets out a gasp. “Apologies, Lord Prince! This is -”

I wave my hand to stop her. “The Archmage’s apprentice, I know. It’s alright, no harm was done.”

She dips her head as she drops into a perfect curtsy, and I nod in response. I can feel her magic too, but it’s a lot quieter than Simon’s. More restrained. “Thank you, Lord Prince. With your leave, we’ll return to our group now.”

I have no clue what she’s talking about. “Group?”

The girl nods emphatically. “Yes, Lord Prince - we’re doing a tour of the castle with some of the new mage apprentices, we conduct one each winter. Most of them have never been inside the castle, and it’s important for them to see the home of those we serve.” She elbows Simon, who winces. “But they’re _not_ supposed to wander off.”

I try not to laugh at the expression on the boy’s face. I don’t want them to know how amused I am by this whole situation. “And what was your name?”

Another curtsy. “Penelope, Lord Prince. I’m a teacher, and the new Bookkeeper in the school’s library.”

“What happened to Lord Minos?” The school’s librarian had been appointed by my mother early in her reign.

“He’s still there, but he’s training me in his stead. I’ve all but taken over his duties, as he’s getting too old to do more than sit by the fire and read,” she explains, then hurries to add, “Lord Prince.”

I nod, more than ready now to get these two out of my sight. This is far too much normal interaction for one day. “Well, good luck to you in your duties, Penelope. You both may go.” She drops into a final curtsy and kicks Simon when he doesn’t bow.

“Hey!” he cries indignantly, before bowing to me with a slightly better form than before. “Er - thank you, Lord Prince.” The two of them hurry to leave, Penelope closing the door gently behind them.

I drop into a plush armchair and cross my arms. I wonder if they could feel my own magic. I’ve been struggling to hide it from the Archmage for years, like my mother had intended for me to do, but I know it’s easier for people of similar ages to detect the magic of others.

Children come into their magic around the age of eight or nine, as a rule. (That was another thing about the Archmage’s apprentice that made him odd; he’d not come into his magic until seventeen, and then it hit him like a boulder.)

When I was eight, my father had already told me about the lineage of magic I was descended from. The Pitch Dynasty had a long history in the kingdom of Watford, all the way back to when the first mages set down the stones that made up the castle I now lived in. But when one of my ancestors was slain for the magic he possessed, it was decided that we would conceal our magic. The public was told that our powers had faded, but in truth, all young Pitch’s were taught to hide it. There was jealousy, over how strong our power often was, and suspicion among those without it.

So our family’s knowledge was hidden. Before I came into my power, my father taught me the methods to carefully shield my aura from others. He told me I would be even stronger than my mother, because I drew not only from the Pitch magic, but that of the Grimm’s, my father’s family, with another long history of powerful magic.

My magic came three days after my ninth birthday, and I was prepared for it. I was already a quick study. With ease, I tucked the energy away inside myself, where I could still draw it out, but where no one else could detect it. Not even the Archmage himself.

After he was certain I wasn’t in danger of revealing myself, my father retreated to a country estate. He was my mother’s consort, and no more; after her death, any power he’d had died with her. And some part of him had died, too, I think.

 

“Basilton, are you listening?” I blink my eyes. Agatha is sitting across from me, frowning prettily.

“No,” I say truthfully, because I had all but zoned out of what she was saying. She pouts at me. “I’m sorry, Agatha. I don’t know where my mind is today.” Her glare only lasts a moment longer before she sighs and lowers the book in front of her.

“Are you alright? You know you can talk to me.”

I look at her, really look at her. She can never know that my mind is always somewhere else when I’m with her.

I know I should be grateful for her presence, for her beauty. We were promised to each other when we were both very young, part of an agreement between our parents that will make her my queen once we’re both of age. Arranged marriages are rarely so advantageous, but the family she comes from, the Wellbeloves, are an old Watford family with money, influence, and power. Joining our houses will build a new empire to last a million lifetimes, or something, but my heart isn’t in it. My heart will never be in it.

There’s no way I can ever tell her the truth, that I don’t feel _that_ kind of attraction toward women.

And I swear it’s not for lack of trying on my part. Being around someone as beautiful and graceful as Agatha would trigger feelings of that sort in anyone, if they’re predisposed to feel them. I even went so far as to kiss her once, two years ago, when my suspicions really began about my attractions. She seemed to enjoy it, but for me, it was uncomfortable, and definitely not something I was in a hurry to repeat.

No matter how I thought about it, though, I knew there was no way around our inevitable future together. She would make a good queen, and I, a terrible husband.

“I’m fine,” I say after a long pause, taking her hand and squeezing it to keep her from questioning me further. She squeezes back and smiles. “Keep reading.” During our quiet afternoons, we often close ourselves into my private room and take turns reading to each other from books on magic. That’s part of the reason this room is confined only to the use of the royal family; many artifacts and books compiled by my ancestors are hidden within. Agatha isn’t terribly powerful, but we like to practice together.

“I heard you met the Archmage’s apprentice today,” she says, tilting her head at me. “What did you think of him?”

“How’d you hear about that?”

“I’m friends with Penelope, the Bookkeeper. She tutors me from time to time, and I ran into her today while she was doing her tours.” The smile on her face is rather amused. “She said Simon just burst in on you.”

I shrug. “He did. It honestly scared the hell out of me. But the poor kid could barely speak in full sentences, so I figured I should cut him some slack.”

“What did you think of him?” she asks again, making me peer at her.

“Does it matter?” I can’t keep the irritation out of my voice, or the heat that I can feel rising in my cheeks. Hopefully she won’t notice, my dark skin usually hides all but the strongest of blushes.

She does notice the annoyance, and now she’s mad at me for being grumpy with her. With a huff, she flips the book closed and lifts up from her chair, her blonde hair billowing around her shoulder with every movement. “I’m going to go find my father. Have a good evening, Basilton.” The door clicks closed smartly behind her, and I lean back in my seat, exhausted now.

Every day in this castle is a charade. I don’t trust the Archmage and his reforms, yet I’m trapped with him in close quarters until my eighteenth birthday. I’m lying to one of my closest childhood friends and my future queen, not to mention my entire court, about so many things. Some days, I think I really would give anything to be free of this crown I’m forced to bear, and just be a person.

I shake my head and get to my feet. That’s a fruitless, painful line of thought. Pausing to shake my hair out of my face and straighten the circlet on my head, I square my shoulders and stride out into the hall.

Agatha’s long gone, going to pout prettily somewhere, I’m sure. I think the Magelings must be gone, because the castle is as quiet as ever as I wander through the corridors. It’s well after dinner, and most of the court has retired for the evening, lamps chasing away some of the murky dark. As usual, I’m not even close to tired, but I return to my apartments nonetheless.

I hate that the Archmage’s apprentice’s face keeps swimming around in my mind’s eye. I don’t spend a lot of time with people my age, and he couldn’t have been more than a few months different, same as the Bookkeeper girl. She must be very smart to be in such an important role at such a young age.

If I were just a person, a magister’s apprentice, perhaps; would they be my friends? Would I spend my days in classes and at meals with those two, going out in the evenings and having someone to confide in, rather than bearing all these hard secrets alone?

Alone in my rooms, I’m going to drive myself insane with all this pointless thinking. I spend the better part of an hour trying to read a new book, but the words seem to be swimming off the page, so distracted am I. Instead, I step into my closet and rummage through the tunics and different royal garb hung carefully from wires, pushing all the way to the back to dig out the plainest clothes I have, as well as a dark hooded cloak.

Before I slip out of my rooms, I take my hair down and let it fall down to rest just at my shoulders, black as the night.

 

**SIMON**

Rather than returning to the apprentice quarters with the others, I follow Penelope to the library.

“I’m telling you,” I say again, trailing after her and speaking in a hushed tone, “the prince was exuding magic! I could _feel_ it! I thought the royal family doesn’t _have_ any magic!”

“They don’t,” Penelope snaps, quickly performing the spell to break the wards on the library door. “I couldn’t feel a thing coming from him, and nor could you. You’re just imagining things, Simon.”

We’ve already had this argument twice since we returned from the castle this afternoon, after I barged in on Prince Basilton in what is apparently his off-limits private study. Which is stupidly unmarked, giving no indication to any innocent passerby that it isn’t the bathroom.

“I’m not!” I insist, still keeping pace with her as she heads toward the small apartment she occupies off the main rooms of the library. “Why would I lie about this? I felt it, clear as the full moon on a dark night. It was almost like -” I cut off, embarrassed suddenly.

“Like _what_?” Penelope asks drily, rolling her eyes at me.

I hesitate, watching her flit about the main room of her apartment, lighting candles. “It was like - almost as if my magic rose up to meet his. Like it reacted to the presence of his. Is that a thing?”

She turns to look at me, pursing her lips as she pauses with a match just about to strike. “I don’t know, Simon… I’ve read some things that allude to something similar, but…”

“But?”

We both drop into the small armchairs she’s shoved into the space. “It’s rare cases, Simon, and… very particular. I’m sure you were just nervous; you told me that your magic can act up sometimes when you’re feeling stressed or uncomfortable.” I watch her rummage through her satchel and don’t respond. Penelope is one of the smartest people I’ve met since coming to the capital, but I know she’s wrong about this. The prince has magic, I’m sure of it; and apparently he’s hiding it from the entire kingdom. But to what end?

“I guess,” I mumble in a passive tone, not wanting to fight with her about it anymore. She finally stops fishing around in her bag, pulling out something big wrapped in what looks like one of her handkerchiefs.

“Don’t get too grouchy,” she says fondly, dropping the bulging parcel on the table between us and undoing the knot at the top and revealing a stack of sandwiches. I didn’t realize until that moment how hungry I was, and I reach for one greedily, but she smacks my hand away. “Go wash up first, you heathen!”

We stuff ourselves until well after dark has set in outside, chatting about the busy day of tours and the insanity that’s been the last few weeks as we prepare for the upcoming winter festivities. Penelope’s been telling me all about it; apparently there’s a whole week of celebrations, to welcome the new season and bring people together for a few days, or something like that. Everyone in the city takes part, dancing in the streets, eating and sharing copious amounts of food - and especially, enjoying the displays of fancy magic put on by the School of Magic.

“Last year,” she tells me around a mouthful of her sandwich, “one of the upper teachers created a spell that made a full-sized dragon out of glitter, and flew it around the turrets of the school. He actually spooked some people who thought it was real, and that we were under attack.” We guffaw at this, imagining what kind of surprises will be in store this year.

We’ve been decorating for a few days already, because the festival is one of the few times during the year that the school is open to the public.

“Isn’t that a huge security risk, or something?” I ask as I sit back, satisfied. “Just letting people wander in and out?”

Penelope nods, then shrugs. “It is, but the City Guard lends us extra soldiers for it, so everyone is pretty safe. And the rooms where experiments and things are going on remain off-limits anyways.”

Not too much later, I excuse myself to return to the apprentice quarters, fit to pass out from a long day and a full stomach. Penelope bids me a good night and I let myself out of the library, able to reapply the door wards as I go on my own.

It’s a long walk back to the main living quarters of the students, across the massive courtyard from the school buildings. The quarters aren’t even technically apart of the school; they open into the school’s courtyard, but the other side is open to the city as well, almost like a buffer and making it easier for the apprentices to come and go. Many of them have family in the city.

But when I make it back to the building, I find I’m not really tired anymore, too caught up in the events of the day. Rather than going straight to the room that I share with a few of the other boys, I creep through the door that leads out into the city. Maybe a bit more a walk will help me clear my mind and make me tired again.

The streets are quiet, so late that most people have gone inside and put out their lamps for the night. I like having the time to myself, but it’s also not always safe to be out alone after dark. I’m big enough that people rarely bother me, but I usually avoid wandering too far.

I’m not paying attention tonight though, and by the time I decide to head back I realize I’m hopelessly lost. I still barely know these streets, and even with the streetlights, it’s too dark to figure out where I need to go. I’d do a navigation spell, but my magic is unpredictable at the best of times. (We’re also not really supposed to use our magic outside the school when we’re still in training.)

The panic is starting to rise in my chest, even as I remind myself to stay calm, when I see movement out of the corner of my eye. There’s somebody ducking down one of the alleys to my left, and I hear the soft whoosh of a cloak as they disappear into the gloom. With my heart pounding practically in my ears, I tiptoe to the opening and lean in just enough to see.

I can just make out the figure at the end of the tight alley, coming even with a wall they apparently weren’t expecting, if the quiet expletive is any sign. Too late, I realize that means they have to turn around - and I don’t move fast enough to get out of sight.

“Hey!” they call out, a man’s voice, and footsteps starting toward me. “Who’s there?”

There’s no time to run; even if I did run, I’d probably just end up more lost than I already am. So I do the only thing I really can do, and step in front of him just as he comes out of the alley. He leaps back as we come face to face, hurrying to try and pull his hood down over his face, but the light from a nearby streetlamp cuts across his features, and I recognize him instantly.

“I - Lord Prince!” I exclaim, staggering backward myself. It wasn’t just fear that was creating that swirling in my chest, then; I was reacting to his magic again. “What are you - ?”

With amazing speed, the prince’s hand shoots out and claps over my mouth, while his other arm goes around my waist in a vice grip. He drags me into the alley’s complete darkness and shoves me into the wall.

“Shout a little louder that I’m the prince, why don’t you?” he hisses through his teeth, keeping his hand closed over my mouth. “Bring every thief and ruffian within a two-mile radius down on our heads, how about?” I try not to be distracted by the scents of lavender and something earthy coming from him, as well as the whirlwind of magic that’s taken over the empty spaces in my chest. “If I remove my hand, are you going to start shouting again?” I shake my head, and he slowly lowers his hand.

“My apologies,” I whisper, my eyes still wide in shock. “You were just the last person I expected to see skulking in an alley in the middle of the night.”

This is met with a scoff. “I am not _skulking_ . I’m _sneaking_.”

“Aren’t those words kind of… synonymous?” We’re so close together that I can make out the whites of his eyes in the dark, his arm still pushing me against the wall.

“Do you even know what that word means? I thought you were illiterate.” His tone is as biting as it was earlier today, clearly impatient.

“I’m not illiterate,” I say, because I’m not sure what else I’m supposed to say. “You remember me?”

The prince seems to realize that we’re practically flush together, because he suddenly releases me and backs away. The lamp cuts over his face again, his hood dropped to his shoulders, and I’m struck once more by the elegance of his appearance. His nose is long and arching, with a regal brow and cheek bones that look like they could cut someone; everything about his face and his expression screams aristocrat.

“Of course I do,” he says in a voice that sounds almost pained. “You nearly scared the life out of me earlier. And I spend all day with your mentor, so of course I’m going to keep you - remember you.”

“I’m glad I didn’t scare the life out of you, I’m really not trying to get arrested for treason.” For some reason, this makes him snort with laughter, an undignified sound that I wouldn’t expect from someone like him.

“You do realize you’re speaking to your future sovereign, right?” he says, unable to mask the underlying amusement in the question. “You should show some more respect.”

My tone is dry as I drop into a low bow and simper, “My humblest apologies, Most Venerable Lord Prince. I would never endeavor to disrespect you, Lord Prince.” This earns me another snort, and I straighten up, grinning myself now.

“You’re impossible,” he mutters, glancing out toward the street with something like fear flashing briefly across his expression.

I decide to keep pushing my luck, and lean forward slightly. “May I ask in seriousness though, Lord Prince; what are you even doing out here? Alone, in the middle of the night?”

He looks back at me, chewing on his lip like he’s thinking about how much to tell me. My eyes have adjusted to the gloom, and I can see that the cloak he’s wearing conceals his whole form. His hair is down, which is jarring in comparison to the neat, tight bun it had been in before.

“I like to… wander, sometimes. It helps me feel more in touch with the kingdom, the city and its streets.” His brow furrows, suddenly returning to anger. “I’ve never been _recognized_ before.”

My grin doesn’t diminish under his scathing tone. “Sorry about that. This time, _you_ scared _me_. I thought you were a villain, ducking around in alleys.”

“Maybe I _am_ a villain.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the winter celebrations draw closer, there are still many preparations to be made. Basilton gets fitted for his masquerade costume, while Simon conducts some very particular research in the library.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things will start picking up a bit more here soon!!

**BASILTON**

I watch his expression, the way it shifts from grinning to surprised, and try not to react.

“You’re not a villain,” he says, sounding like he means it. “You might be a bit of a prat -”

My sudden outburst of laughter cuts him off, and he starts grinning again, and it’s like he’s turned on the sun. “You can’t keep talking to me like that, you know!”

Simon shrugs, and it takes all my energy not to roll my eyes. “You haven’t tried to have me drawn and quartered yet, so I’m not too worried about it.”

“I’ve never tried to have anyone drawn and quartered. That sounds awful.”

“Well, exactly. You’re clearly much nicer than you try to portray yourself.”

For some reason, this rankles me. I step away from him and draw my hood back up over my head. “You don’t know anything about me. Don’t pretend like you do.”

 

**SIMON**

I’m not sure how I managed it, but I upset him, I can see it in the way he withdraws into his cloak. A stupid part of me makes me reach for his hand, but he whips it out of my reach and fixes me with a glare that could curdle milk. I hold up my hands in surrender.

“Stop trying to be so familiar,” he snaps at me, taking another step back from me. “Leave me alone.” With that, he storms out of the alley and around the corner.

I try to follow after him, but when I emerge, he’s already gone.

 

**BASILTON**

The better part of my morning is spent trying not to snarl at anyone who looks at me, which takes a lot of restraint on my part. I can’t put a finger on the reason for my irritability, but it swirls around me like a storm and scares away most people.

Most people except Davy, who always sees my moods as a challenge. He follows me around all morning, talking extensively about all the nonsense that’s due to begin in a week for the winter parties. The castle is even more of a hub of activity than normal at this time, all sorts of people coming in and out. Merchants, entertainers, visiting nobility from all over the country.

Every year, the security gets ramped up, in order to keep track of all the business going on. I’m not sure where the reserves of soldiers come from, but they show up every year, without fail. More men and women than there’s really need for, tramping around in armor and making every corridor cramped and hot and loud.

There’s a reason I spend a lot of time in my rooms during the festivities.

Unfortunately, I can’t escape everything; as the crown prince, there are several events that I’m forced to attend, such as the opening and closing ceremonies that take place in front of the castle gates.

And then, there’s the masquerade ball. Everyone with any vague kind of importance crams into the castle’s grandest ballroom for an evening of lively dancing, eating, and gossiping. It’s one of the most anticipated social events of the year, so naturally, I despise it - even if I do so enjoy seeing myself in fancy dress.

I’ve grown so much since the last fancy occasion that I have to attend a fitting with the court seamstress, who’s always been more like a nanny to me than an attendant. Vera will fuss at me and isn’t afraid to poke me with a needle if I’m being impatient, which I often am. The fitting is a good excuse to get away from the Archmage, but Agatha decides to sit in on it, so I’m forced to be on my better behavior. She and Vera chat back and forth about what kinds of colors I should wear this year, even though I always demand silver and black. Vera never seems to hear that particular request.

“You know,” Agatha says slowly when I voice this desire now, “I think now that you’re older, the black and silver might be a good option.”

Vera tuts loudly. “He always wears black and silver! For a party the size of this one -”

“But just think about it, Vera,” Agatha insists, leaning forward on the chaise she’s stretched across. “A mask like the moon, a silver-lined black doublet and a cloak like midnight. Think about how it would make him positively _shine_.” I’ll give it to Agatha that she certainly does have a flair for the dramatic, painting a pretty picture for all of us to imagine. Vera squints at me in the long mirror like she’s creating the scene of me stepping into the ballroom, lighting up the dais and blinding anyone who looks my way.

“Fine,” she says finally, and I just manage to keep myself from cheering. “Go on, then, Basilton, we’re through for today.” I hop off the stool and swoop down to plant a firm kiss on Vera’s cheek. “Pssh. Trouble for me, the both of you.”

Swiftly, I pull my tunic over my skinny chest, chuckling as I do. When I turn to offer a hand to Agatha to pull her up, I catch her watching me, a small smirk present on her perfect rosy lips.

Because of who I am as a person, I wink at her slyly before I help her to her feet.

We walk through the corridors together arm in arm, lacking engagement for the rest of the day. It’s been dedicated to preparations for the merriment, but in truth, the two of us have very little to take care of. Our conversations are usually very shallow, and today is no exception. She tells me about some of the new noblewomen who’ve been shown to the court, and I grunt in response. It seems to gratify her, that I take no interest in any other women in the castle, but if she knew the real reason I doubt she would still feel the same.

“So are you going to tell me why you’re so tired today?” Agatha asks in a perfectly nonchalant voice, so casually that it takes a moment to pick up on the question.

“What?” I say dumbly, startled. She cuts her eyes at me, glaring.

“You’ve got the darkest circles under your eyes, and you’ve been snapping at everyone who isn’t Vera or myself all morning long. I think you even startled the Archmage with your temper, which is normally a sign you’ve not slept much. And your movements are very sluggish, like you’ve attached lead to your limbs.” She sniffs haughtily. “Far be it from me to question the late night activities of my future king, of course.”

I don’t miss the tone in her voice, but I’m not actually in the mood to pick a fight with her. “Agatha,” I say gently, resting my hand on top of hers where it rests in the crook of my arm, “I just couldn’t sleep last night, that’s all. I was up pacing half the time. Restless, for some reason. You know how I get sometimes.”

She does get it, because while we were more or less forced into an engagement, she’s also one of my oldest companions. Her expression softens, and she reaches up to push a stray lock of hair from my forehead.

“You poor dear,” she says in a sympathetic tone that makes me cringe behind my lie. “You ought to go rest for a bit. There’s no laws that state the crown prince is not allowed to take a nap.”

I snort softly at this, pausing in our walk. “You don’t mind if I disappear for a bit?”

Agatha stops and stands in front of me, tilting her head. “Of course not. I’ll see you at dinner, right?” I nod, and she leans up to kiss my cheek. “Okay, then. Rest well.” She turns in a whirl of blonde hair and glides down the hall like a vision from a dream.

But it’s not my dream. It’s someone else’s.

 

**SIMON**

When I’m not in lessons with the Archmage, my days are incredibly unstructured.

At least that’s what Penelope complains.

“You have no schedule, no occupation!” she’ll cry when I follow her around like a lost puppy, bored out of my mind. “You should get a part-time job or _something_ , so you can quit following me! I have work to do!”

This morning, she finally gets what she wants. I go straight to the library when I wake up at the crack of dawn (I’m very much a morning person, despite some of my late night ramblings), but instead of hunting down Penelope, I disappear into the shelves.

The school’s library is the biggest collection of magic books in at least the country, if not the world. The shelves are towering and stuffed full of thousands of books, about everything from ancient mythology to magical creatures to modern techniques. I know more about it than I’d probably like, thanks to Penelope being my best friend and the biggest bookworm I’ve ever met.

I’m certain that if there’s something to be found about what happened when I encountered the crown prince’s magic, it’ll be somewhere in these shelves. No matter what Penelope says, I _know_ what I felt. My magic has never reacted to anyone else like that, I could practically hear his own power swirling inside him, it was that vivid.

I wander up and down the rows for a while, reading spines and pulling down ones that sound useful, and setting them out on one of the long tables tucked under a massive window. I’m not very good at research, but I’ll certainly do my damndest. Even if I never see Prince Basilton again - I want an answer, an explanation, _something._

When I’ve built up a good stack of hefty volumes, I plop down in the high-back seat and crack one open. My eyes scan the table of contents, but nothing stands out to me as related. It takes opening three other books before I actually find something interesting.

“‘Relationships and Interactions of Magic,’” I mutter to myself, dragging my finger down the page to the related number. It’s in a section about the merging of souls and soulmates, which makes me question the whole thing. Is this what Penelope mentioned that was so rare? Surely she doesn’t think soulmates are a real thing? I flip to the page and start reading aloud to myself.

“‘In some cases, there have been magisters who mentioned a feeling deep within themselves, when they encountered someone who was, supposedly, destined to become a person of great import to them. Some scholars among magisters believe this to be evidence of _soulmates_ as more than just a romantic concept, while some, including the author of this volume, find this to be highly unlikely.’”

“Simon!” Penelope appears over my shoulder and I startle, slamming my book shut and nearly toppling out of my seat. “What’re you doing in here?”

“Uh, nothing!” I say nervously, then, “Studying!” Then, “I’m researching something for the Archmage?” I turn to look at her, trying not to look suspicious. She’s holding a stack of books herself, with several more floating along behind her.

With a grunt, she sets her stack on my table and peers at the books I’ve collected. “Really? What are you researching? Why didn’t you ask me for help?”

“You always fuss at me,” I say grumpily, and she sighs.

“Not when you’re working on something for the _Archmage_ ,” she says exasperatedly, “only when you’re just trailing after me because you lack entertainment, Simon. What is all this stuff? _‘The Magic of Love: How to Tell If -’_ ” I yank the book she’s reading the spine of out of her sight, feeling the heat rise in my face.

“It’s nothing! I’ve got to go, I’m going to be late for my lesson!” It’s true; I just glanced out the window and realized how late in the morning it’s gotten, and I’m supposed to meet the Archmage in his offices at eleven. “Bye, Penelope!” I hear her call out behind me, but I don't slow down.

 

The Archmage is already in his office when I make it there, my chest heaving from running through the corridors.

“I’m sorry I’m late, sir,” I say heavily, standing alert in the doorway. He looks up from a stack of papers and smiles like he’s genuinely happy to see me.

“Simon,” he says pleasantly. “Come in, close the door. You’re not late, I’m just early.” He comes out from behind his desk as I approach, placing a comforting hand on my arm. “How are you doing?”

I return his smile, reaching up to squeeze his shoulder before settling into the seat he placed for me at the beginning of our time together. “I’m doing alright, sir.” He returns to his own seat, a high-backed, plush desk chair, decorated with gold filigree and inlaid with gems. “I went with Penelope to the castle for the tours - I met the prince on accident.”

The Archmage raises his eyebrows, but otherwise doesn’t react. “On accident?”

I nod so hard my hair flops forward onto my forehead. “Yes, sir. I accidentally barged into his private study, I think I spooked him. I kinda slammed the door open.” I don’t know why I’m telling the Archmage about my meeting the prince. I tell him pretty much everything. But I don’t think the prince would want me to tell the Archmage about his escapes into the city at night, so I’ll keep it to myself.

“He doesn’t let anyone in there except for his closest fellows,” the Archmage says primly, and it sounds like there’s a trace of annoyance in his tone. “I imagine you quite startled him. What did you think of him?” He doesn’t meet my eyes as he asks this, instead flipping through more papers like he’s not closely attending the conversation.

I speak earnestly, leaning forward with my hands on my knees. “I thought he was a bit of a prat.” This makes the Archmage snort, though he tries to hide it. “Prickly as hell, but dead handsome.” The Archmage looks up at me sharply, quirking his dark brow.

“Hmm.” He opens a drawer in his desk and pulls out a thick book, plunking it down between us. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

We spend the better part of our two hours going over spells in the book, which focuses on entertainment and showy magic; fireworks, fun illusions, things of that sort. I ask if it has to do with the festivities for next week, and the Archmage nods.

“I want you to take part in the displays,” he tells me. “As my apprentice, it’s important for the people to see you performing magic. I know you’re not far in your training, but I believe with a power as large as yours, you’re prepared to take this on. It’s just a matter of practicing.” This is the Archmage’s favorite thing to say to me - I think he doesn’t quite believe that I _do_ actually practice in my spare time, but it just doesn’t seem to be making much of a difference.

Despite his assurances, I find the spells rather tricky. The problem I often have with my magic is that it’s too unpredictable to choose exactly how much I use, so I pour too much or too little into my spellwork. I attempt one of the fire-spinner spells, and manage to torch half of the Archmage’s desk. Amidst my stream of apologies, he just puts the fire out and tells me kindly to try again.

His patience with me sometimes is astounding. If someone torched my desk, I’d probably be livid.

By the end of the lesson though, I manage to rein in my power and create several of the displays almost perfectly, just with some timing errors.

“Excellent, Simon,” the Archmage says, standing behind his desk with his hands on his hips and a grin on his face. “You’ve nearly got it, you’re spectacular.” I flush at the praise, lowering my hands until the glitter dissipates into the air. “Take the book with you and study it further. We’ll work more on this tomorrow, until you feel comfortable for next week.”

He begins gathering his own belongings, stowing them into a satchel that he carries back and forth between here and the castle, the two places he spends most of his time. I know he must get tired of running all over the place, but he’s the Steward to the Kingdom as well as the Archmage; he has a ridiculous number of duties.

“Is there anything else, sir?” I say a bit breathlessly, still brimming with joy at his compliments.

“Oh, yes,” he says, snapping his fingers. “I nearly forgot. I don’t know how much Penelope has told you about the festivities, but there’s a masquerade held every year in the castle. As the Archmage, it’s required of me to attending, and because you’re now apprenticed to me, I would like you there as well.”

I widen my eyes at him. “A masquerade, sir?”

“It’s like a ball, but everyone wears masks and costumes, like fun disguises. It’s a big to-do, very fancy. You’ll need to go buy some new clothes for it, as well as a mask. I’ll give you the address for the tailor I see, you can just tell him to put it on my tab.”

My heart is pounding. “But, sir,” I say slowly, trying not to sound like I’m panicking, “surely it wouldn’t be a good idea, I’m terrible at parties -”

“Nonsense,” he says, and I know better than to keep pressing the issue. “You’ll do fine. I’m not worried, and neither should you be.”

“Yes, sir.” An idea occurs to me, which might save the situation a little. “Can I bring Penelope along? Sir?”

There’s a pause while he mulls it over, before nodding curtly. “I don’t see a problem with that, if her presence will make you feel more at ease.” He closes the flap of his bag, then pulls the strap over his head and looks at me. “Keep working hard, Simon. And go to the tailor this afternoon, the masquerade is only a little more than a week away.”

I promise him I will, and we leave together, parting ways at the massive front doors of the school. As soon as he’s gone, I race back upstairs to find Penelope.

“The masquerade?!” she exclaims as I tell her about it in a rush, beaming at her. “Holy Fires, Simon, I can’t believe you asked if I could go too! Most the lesser noble families like mine only ever get two invites, so my parents have always gone - but I never have!” She grabs my arm, practically hopping with excitement. “We’ve got to go shopping!”

The two of us hurry to the tailor the Archmage told me about. His shop is in the noble part of the city, all of the people strolling by obviously belonging to the rich and honorable families. I must look a bit rough in comparison, because they look at me oddly and make sure to give me a wide berth.

The tailor is a brusque, somewhat grumpy man, but alarmingly efficient. Penelope is swept away by one of his female assistants to get measured and fitted, while the owner shows me to a small room and tells me to strip down to just my braies. He whips a measuring cord around me in quick, snappy movements, then asks me a long list of questions, regarding what I prefer in terms of style, colors, fabrics - all things I’ve never once considered before.

I can tell I’m annoying him, answering mostly in noises of confusion. My favorite color is a kind of navy, and Penelope told me that gold looks good on me, so I just tell him this and it seems to placate him.

“We’ll have the garments sent to you when they’re finished,” he tells me as I’m pulling my clothes back on and he’s scribbling on a parchment. “If something doesn’t fit right, come back and see me.” He stumps out of the room, and I follow a moment later to find Penelope waiting for me.

“You took ages!” she says, laughing as she gets up from a sofa.

“Yeah, well, I’ve never had to shop for fancy clothes before!” I reply, somewhat embarrassed. We wander back out into the street, looking around. “I was clueless on what to tell him for colors or style or whatever. I finally just told him I like navy blue and gold, and I think he was just happy to get me out of there.”

We stop to get dinner from one of the bakeries in town, where we’ve both made friends with the owner. She always gives us extras to take back with us, and pats my cheek and calls me ‘dove.’ All the way back to the school, Penelope and I cackle to each other, imagining what it’ll be like to go to one of the most talked-about events of the year among the nobility. Neither of us are exactly high-class, even though she at least comes from a noble family.

“It will certainly be a night to remember,” Penelope says mysteriously, smirking at me around a mouthful of soup, before we both burst into laughter.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Winter Festival begins, and so does the insanity that comes with it. Simon and Penelope go looking for masks, while Baz experiments with flashy magic.

_ Sunday _

**BASILTON**

Sunday mornings are usually, as a rule, meant for sleeping in. So I’m feeling a little less than pleased at being forced to be up, dressed, and standing out in the early chill as the sun is still coming up over the roofs of the city. 

The rest of the people in the capital don’t seem to share my feeling. It looks like the whole city has turned up at the gates, filling the street and cramming into the surrounding buildings, leaning out of windows. I try to pull my furs up around my ears to block out some of the noise, but it has very little effect. 

I think Davy is enjoying himself far too much. I glare at the back of his head for good measure, hoping he feels some of my general animosity. 

He’s been going on for half an hour already, talking about the state of the kingdom, the plans for the week’s festivities, where to go for information, that sort of thing. There’s also apparently a raffle going on, for a few lucky peasants to get invited to and outfitted for the masquerade. I don’t think it sounds like a great idea - but then, nobody asked me. 

“And now,” Davy says dramatically, throwing his arms into the air, “the real beginning of the festival! A light show and performance from the top students at the Watford School of Magic! Stick around after the show, mingle, and eat your fill!” He steps down on the makeshift stage, and a small line of students takes his place. They’re dressed in the pale yellow tunics of the upper students, boys and girls alike, with gold sewn into the sleeves to represent their seniority and above-average skills. 

Despite my disgruntled nature, the performance is always worth watching, and this year the students have really gone above and beyond. The whole city, myself included, watches in a trance as they recreate a battle between two massive dragons made of light, complete with real flames and bright, billowing colors. They’ve even found a way to fabricate the sounds of a battle, and a small group of musicians accompany them to add more drama, their sound amplified by one of the magic professors on the sidelines. 

When they finish, the sound of applause is deafening from all sides, and the students join hands and dip in low bows. One of the girls blows a kiss to the audience before they depart the stage.

“That was amazing,” Agatha says beside me, lightly touching my knee. She leans toward me to be heard over the noise of the crowd. “Have you ever seen the like?” 

She had stopped me this morning on our way out of the castle, her cheeks shimmering with pink glitter. Before I could greet her, she’d rubbed both of her thumbs across my cheeks and stepped back, grinning widely. “There,” she’d said laughingly, “you look perfect!” When I touched my cheeks and red glitter came away on my fingers, I couldn’t help but laugh as well. 

“They really outdid themselves,” I agree easily, watching the students disappear among their peers. I squint for a moment, and realize I’m staring directly into the eyes of the Archmage’s apprentice. He’s just noticed me too, and widens his eyes at me. His friend Penelope is beside him, pulling on his sleeve in a failing attempt to get his attention, the two of them with glitter all over their cheeks. I look away quickly, ignoring the strange feeling in my stomach and chest at the sight of him. 

For once, I’m grateful for the crowd of nobles that closes in on Agatha and I, clamoring for my attention, because it gives a reason not to glance back toward the students. But every time my eyes so much as flick that direction, I find Simon staring straight at me, almost through me. I ignore the odd sensation in my stomach and force myself to chat with the various lords and ladies around me. 

As soon as I find an opening, and see Agatha talking to her father, I make my escape. The guards at the gate are quick to admit me, and I start the short hike up to the back door I use to avoid the entrance hall.  

Due to the ceremony outside, the corridors are mostly empty. The only person I come across whom I actually recognize is my cousin. He’s by himself in a corner of the kitchens, reading a book while he picks at a stack of pancakes. He looks up as I approach, and quirks one of his brows at me. 

“Basilton,” he says in greeting, slowly closing the book and sitting back in his seat. I sit down across from him. 

“Dev.” One of the cooks comes over with a mug of tea and pile of toast dripping with maple syrup. All the kitchen staff has known about my sweet tooth since I was a child, and always take good care of me. “Thank you.” 

My cousin watches me eat in silence for a few moments, making me self-conscious enough to cover my mouth with my hand. “Shouldn’t you be out celebrating, or something?” I ask him, pausing the onslaught on my food. 

“Shouldn’t you? You’re covered in glitter.” 

I shrug, taking another bite. “You know me and crowds.” This makes Dev snort, and he cracks his book open again while I finish eating. 

Dev came to court at ten years old, after my aunt and uncle had realized the Pitch family magic had skipped him over completely. It wasn’t common for such a strong line of magic to produce a dud, but it did happen from time to time. So instead of being raised and taught magic in seclusion at the family’s manor in the country, my cousin was sent here, to be reared as one of my courtiers. 

“Did you attend the opening?” I ask as I push my plate away, stuffed. “It was really something else this year.” 

He waves his hand noncommittally. “I’m not a fan of flashy, show-off magic.” I expect it makes him rather sad to watch, knowing all the power that he could have had. It even makes me agitated - that I should have the power, but not be able to  _ use _ it. 

I could outshine any of the scrubs at that school. 

Instead of suffering through the tediousness of the street festivals, Dev and I slip into one of the castle lounges and nick a couple of cigars, then take them up to my apartments.

My mother picked these rooms when she was queen, and after I grew up and was able to pick my rooms, I chose to return to them. There was no trace that my mother’s life had ended in these rooms, but I feel it, somewhere in my chest, especially on the hardest days. Especially in the winter, when the residual magic is at its strongest. 

A lot of strange things can happen in the winter. 

Dev and I settle in the armchairs I had placed out on the balcony, where we have a perfect view of the city, and two massive braziers to keep us warm. (I still wrap myself in furs for good measure.) Out across the rooftops, we can see different displays going on, huge flashes of light dancing up into the sky and disappearing. It makes Dev a little grouchy, but I’m enthralled now that I’m not surrounded by people. 

I set aside my cigar and lean forward, cupping my hands in front of me. Dev lowers his own and watches me. I pull my magic up from within, like my father taught me to. It’s been squirming in the pit of my stomach for days and days, itching to be used after I spelled myself invisible the night I ran into Simon in the city. It’s probably that imbecile’s fault my magic has been acting up.

Forcing all those thoughts from my head, I focus on my goal. Nothing too big, but the glitter and the sparks, like the performances going on. It starts in my palms, tiny swirling galaxies, and I coax them to grow, expand toward the sky. After a moment, I look like I’m holding a nebula between my hands, shifting and twisting as I turn it this way and that. We’re both transfixed now - I’ve never tried something beautiful like this, something without a practical use. I’m actually kind of surprised I was able to summon it. 

I lift slowly to my feet, careful to keep the globe intact between my hands. “Basilton, what are you -” My cousin cuts off as I lob the ball with all my strength over the balcony, so hard that it flies out into the city, over the roofs - and explodes into a massive, flashing array of light and color over everything, then dissipates. In the distance, a cheer rises up from the streets. 

When I sit back down and reach for my cigar again, Dev scoffs. “Isn’t it dangerous for you to use your magic?” 

I take a long drag before answering. “Perhaps. But I wanted to experiment, and I must say, I’m rather satisfied by the outcome.” Dev doesn’t say anything, just snorts again. We sit for a long time in silence, smoking and staring out at the city, alive with magic. 

 

**SIMON**

There’s nothing that works the Archmage into a bigger tizzy than things occuring outside of the  _ plan _ . Whoever threw that massive ball of light over the city really set him off, barking at the other professors to figure out who cast it. But none of them can piece it together, completely nonplussed, and eventually things calm down again. 

“What a mess,” Penelope says, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. Her wild hair, which she usually carefully traps into a bun, is down and swirling around her neck and shoulders. She’s even spread glitter across her cheeks, purple and flashing in the mid-morning sun. I’m wearing some too, gold to match my hair. “I’m impressed at whoever managed to pull that off undetected.” 

“They said it came from the castle, right?” Penelope nods. “I’d bet my left shoe it was the prince.” 

It clearly hurts Penelope not to roll her eyes at me. “Not this again, Simon, please. Enough of your conspiracy theories.” I just grunt in response, not willing to get into the argument again. I’m still a bit unsteady, after the look I shared with the prince before he went to willfully refusing to meet my eyes at all. I kept trying to get him to look at me, to realize there’s something weird between us - but he kept himself busy, talking to nobles and the pretty girl at his side. Agatha, I think her name is. Penelope told me they’re betrothed, and I haven’t mentally addressed that particular confusion just yet. 

And now the prince has up and disappeared. Penelope won’t believe me, but I’m certain that lightshow was his doing. There are certain signatures of magisters, little discrepancies you can detect if you know what you’re looking for. The prince’s feels like fire, like sitting in front of a brazier and warming fingers that were stiff with cold. Some kind of warm relief. 

“Let’s go look at the shops, Si,” Penelope says, pulling me back to the present. I nod absently and we start down the street, carefully maneuvering through the thick crowds of people. 

The bazaar is in the city center, not too far away, and Penelope and I are hunting for our masquerade masks. “I think I want something red,” she says dreamily, hooking her arm loosely in mine. “Or maybe yellow. I don’t know, there’s so many to choose from!” 

“Red,” I reply, affirmatively. Her dress will be red, and I have a feeling the two of us will match rather nicely. “You’re changing your hair color for it, aren’t you?” It’s a bright fuschia right now, which will clash spectacularly with red.

“Yeah, I’m going to strip the color to my natural one.” 

The marketplace is positively teeming with people, even though it’s still early. I feel like my head’s on a swivel as I try to look at everything, turning this way and that to observe the wares different vendors are hawking. 

It’s not totally easy going, since a lot of people recognize me as the Archmage’s apprentice and want to talk to me, to ask about the Archmage and other things that I can’t really tell them about. Penelope and I carefully skirt them, slinking into alleys and shops to escape the bother. 

We end up in a shop that’s full, wall-to-wall, with masks of all shapes, colors, and sizes. It’s actually quiet, the two of us the only shoppers inside, and is tucked away in a corner of a side street. It’s a relief to be able to breathe for a moment. 

The storekeeper smiles dreamily at us from behind the counter, her dirty blonde hair tucked messily behind her ears and a knit cap pulled over the top. 

“Ahoy there,” she greets us in a sweet voice, “anything I can help ya find today?” There’s a tiny goat sleeping on the countertop beside her, which I was convinced was a stuffed animal until it twitched and rolled over in its sleep. 

“My friend and I are looking for our masquerade masks,” I tell her, wandering closer to the counter and returning her smile. Something about her makes me feel at peace, like she just exudes calm. “Think you can help us with that?” 

My words make her laugh, a full sound that makes it seem like everything in the world is good and meaningful. “I think we can sort ya out.” She comes out from behind the tall counter, shuffling her way toward the shelves so that her skirts rustle around her legs. “Come here, sweet girl.” Penelope glances at me, obviously bewildered, but I just shrug at her. She follows the woman, albeit at a short distance, as the woman pulls down one of the masks. I look over Penelope’s shoulder at it. 

“It’s - it’s perfect,” she whispers, staring at it in the woman’s hands. The mask is a dusky maroon, made to cover the top half of the face. It’s inlaid with brilliant red gems that shimmer even in the dim light of this shop, and plumes of feathers billow out from the sides. Penelope takes it, reverently, and holds it to her face. “What do you think, Simon?” 

I’m floored. “That’s amazing,” I say to them both. “Will it work with your dress, then?” 

“It’s the exact right colors and everything,” Penelope says, pulling it away from her face, “and it’s so beautiful.” The woman beams at her. 

“I had a feeling,” she says mysteriously, so that I pause for a moment and look at her. She meets my gaze evenly, and the smile that spreads across her face is infectious again. “Now you, m’boy.” She peers at me, quirking her lips to the side, then stumps off to a shelf on the other side of the room. I follow her, nervous and excited and calm all at once. 

As she pulls down another mask, I’m almost immediately drawn to it. It’s like there’s a hook in my stomach, dragging me toward it. She offers it to me, and I take it with shaking hands. 

It’s made to cover three-fourths of the face, with a delicate band to go around the head and hold it in place. The mask itself is fairly solid, a deep, gold color, molded to resemble the sun. Small designs are etched into the corners of the eyes, and a small line of gold gems define the brow. When I hold it up to my face, it feels like it was made to fit the contours of my cheeks, my forehead. 

“How’s that?” the blonde woman asks, grinning up at me. I blink at her. 

“It’s like it’s fitted to my face.” I lower the mask. “How’d you do this?” 

She waves her hand as she walks back behind the counter. The goat came awake at some point, watching us with lidded eyes. “Oh, y’know, this and that.” 

This is a vague and completely unhelpful answer, but I don’t feel the need to push her. “How much do we owe you for these?” Even as the question leaves my mouth, she starts shaking her head.

“Nothing, nothing,” she says breezily. “Just wear them with pride, and remember - even if you’re wearing a mask, you’re still you. Nothing can change that.” 

Penelope and I glance at each other. Her expression must mirror mine, her eyebrows almost at her hairline. 

“Are you sure?” she asks the woman, tilting her head. “We can pay -” 

“Your joy is payment enough,” she says with another smile. 

“At least tell us your name, mistress,” I say, hoping that we could maybe send payment later by mail. 

The woman pulls out a tiny hand broom and starts sweeping the counter. “I’m Ebeneza, but you two may call me Ebb. Now go on, run along and enjoy the festival, and the masquerade.” 

Before either of us realizes it, we’re back out on the street, surrounded by people and noise. In our hands, we each are clutching tiny receipts, telling us that our masks will be delivered to our living quarters forthwith. 

“What… the hell was that?” Penelope looks at me with wide eyes. “Was that a dream?” 

I hold the receipt up. “Dreams are rarely so tactile, Penny. I wonder how soon they’ll arrive.” 

We spend the better part of an hour wandering around, trying to figure out how to make it back to that mask shop so we can tell the others at the school about it - but no matter what we do, we can’t seem to find our way back. There was one shop that I thought might be it, but when we went inside it was stripped to the bare wood, and covered in a few years’ worth of dust. 

 

_ Tuesday _

**BASILTON**

It’s another day before I can muster the energy or the courage to venture out into the streets again. Each day of the festival is dedicated to something different. Monday was dedicated to the writing and reading of poetry, so I didn’t feel too hard-pressed to make the journey. 

But Tuesday is a different story - the day of music. There will be concerts all over the city, some by large ensembles, small groups, solo performances, and I wouldn’t miss it for the world. It’s a pain, though, trying to arrange to leave the castle when I’m not sneaking around at night. I know I’m an important person, but I hate having to take a guard escort. It completely destroys any chance I might have at being discreet.

Today, I’ve managed to talk my way out of the normal four guards to an easier two. I even convince them to dress in plainer clothes, but with the swords strapped to their belts and the glittering breastplates, it’s not much use. One of them is carrying my violin. I’m hoping to find a quiet nook somewhere to play. I don’t often get to play for crowds, and today is the perfect opportunity. 

We start down the street outside the castle gates, my two guards quiet and watchful just a step behind me. It’s not as busy as it was the opening day, but there are still plenty of people about. Barely any of them notice me, thank goodness, but a few glance at me and whisper behind their hands to their neighbors. I pretend not to notice, keeping my head high and my strides even. 

This starts to fail when we come to the marketplace, where it absolutely  _ is _ as busy as the opening ceremony. And with so many eyes casting about, it’s not long before I’m noticed, and recognized. My guards get even closer, keeping any undesirables from reaching me, but the peasantry is just interested in looking at me, speaking at me, shouting requests. 

There’s no music here. I don’t want to stay long. But this market is the best place for me to find a mask, without having to send a servant to acquire one for me. And I couldn’t tell a servant to get me a second, very plain mask so that I can venture into the city incognito. While the wealthies and nobles of the kingdom will be dancing, the average folks have their own masquerade day, anyone who steps out of their homes donning all sorts of masks. 

“Can I help you find anything, Lord Prince?” The vendor of the booth I’m observing is eager to assist, coming around the front of the setup with open hands. The masks he’s selling aren’t terribly impressive, but they’re pretty, I suppose. I don’t want to disappoint him, but I’m hellbent on finding a mask that will awe everyone. I give him a sad smile and move on. 

None of the booths present anything that stands out to me. I stop at nearly all of them, and I’m sure everyone observing my procession must think me very snobbish. I’ll let them, because their tiny opinions don’t ever touch me. 

I’m worrying that I’m going to have to go back to one of the booths and make a less than satisfactory purchase when I realize I’ve lost my guards somewhere in the crowd. Normally, I would be overjoyed at the freedom, but with all these people, I’m less than thrilled. Keeping my head down, I duck into one of the side streets that’s much quieter, a few storefronts and a bakery fielding far less foot traffic than the busy city square. 

That’s when I see the wooden sign carved with a mask, tucked in at the end of the street. I start toward it, intrigued. 

As I swing open the door, a small bell jingles overhead. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the gloom, but when they have, I see that the shop is filled with masks. They occupy every wall, in a rainbow array of colors and all sorts of styles. It’s so mesmerizing that I don’t notice the woman behind the counter until she speaks. 

“G’day!” she says cheerily, and I startle. “Looking for something special?” 

I blink at her. She looks a bit haggard under her knit hat, dirty blonde hair poking out and some dirt spread across her nose. 

“Oh, er,” I say, so caught off guard that I lose my train of thought for a moment. “I’m - looking for a mask. For the masquerade ball.” My voice sounds tight even to my ears, and I wish for a moment I was better at being casual. 

She comes out toward me, her uneven-hemmed skirts revealing calf-high leather boots. She’s fairly short and has to look up at me, staring into my face for a moment with an intense type of concentration. “I see. Yes, of course.” Before I can say anything else, she moves away, peering up at one of the high shelves. She has to get on her tiptoes to reach it, but she pulls down a mask and offers it to me. “Try this.” 

I take it and look at it in my hands. It’s like a waning moon, made to occupy almost the entirety of my face, leaving only my chin and a part of my cheek open. It’s a beautiful, glistening silver, that ripples with light when I tilt it. Small silver stones make thin lines under both of the eye holes, and small, delicate carvings decorate several different areas. 

How does she have the exact mask I was imagining? When I return my eyes to her face, she’s grinning at me, like she knows she’s amazed me. “What do you think, Lord Prince?” 

I’m surprised she knows who I am. “It’s exactly what I was looking for,” I say slowly. “How did you know?” 

“There are lots of things I know, Lord Prince,” she says in a misty voice, and I narrow my eyes. 

“It must be cheating to use magic to garner business,” I reply, because there’s nothing else this could be. “I don’t know much about owning a shop, but doesn’t magic sort of cheapen the genuinity of the sale?”

“Do you feel cheated, Lord Prince?” 

She knows my answer before I say it. “No.” I realize it’s the truth. “How much?” 

“For you? Nothing. You owe me only the honor of having the Crown Prince wear one of my masks.” She returns to her counter, petting the small goat which I absolutely thought was fake, but now blinks at me. 

“Nothing? There’s always a catch with deals like this. If you’re looking for a favor later on -” 

“Lord Prince, meanin’ no offense, but you’ve nothing I’d desire. I’ve already got all that I need. And so do you, as long as you don’t try to hide from it.” 

I grow aware again and realize I’m back in the square. My guards are in front of me, chastising me for running off. I stare at them, then look down at my hand, where I’m clutching a small paper receipt. Signed at the top is the name  _ Ebeneza _ . 

“It was an accident,” I say brusquely to my guards. “I’ve been looking all over for you. It’s nearly noon, we’re going to miss the concert.” 

I’m grateful that I made it out for the day’s festivities, but I’m a little shaken after the encounter with that woman. It’s mostly driven out of my mind as I listen to the concert, sitting far in the back so me and my entourage don’t detract attention from the performers. 

Afterward, on the way back to the castle, I make my guards wait while I take out my violin, stand in a corner of one of the smaller town squares where it’s less crowded, and start to warm up. The people milling around drift toward me, murmuring excitedly at the unplanned entertainment. 

In the hearing of them all, I play whatever it pleases me to play. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The masquerade is getting closer, and Basilton finds out something that could change everything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this chapter is suuuuper short but the next one is soon to come, and will likely be really long! I just want to cut it down a little bit. <3

_ Wednesday Afternoon _

**SIMON**

By the time I return to my rooms on the fourth day of the festival, I’m exhausted. The Archmage had me do a performance in one of the squares this morning, and I think it went pretty well - but it took a lot out of me. Showy magic isn’t as draining as most types of magic, but it still takes a lot of concentration and power. 

So I’m ready to throw myself down on my bed, but find it occupied by a clothing parcel, carefully stretched out flat, with a package resting on top. A rush of excitement goes through me as I gently move aside the package, which I assume holds my mask. The buttons holding the flaps closed come undone easily. I let out a small rush of air as I pull the garments out, because I know these clothes are nicer than anything I’ve ever touched or owned. 

The ensemble is made from dark navy blues in varying shades, with swirling gold patterning decorating the tunic, which is held together with a series of gold clasps. There’s also a sash of golden fur, to be worn diagonally across my chest. I run my fingers over it, amazed at how soft it is. 

Because the other lads aren’t back yet, I hurry to pull the garments on, then stand in front of my long mirror. I’m alarmed for a moment at how grown-up I look, more like a lord than the tosser I know myself to be. With my hair slicked back for the ball, I won’t even look like myself. 

I turn back to my bed and unwrap the package holding my mask. It’s just as beautiful as I remembered it, glimmering as I turn it in my hands before carefully holding it to my face and pulling the band over my head. In the mirror, I don’t even recognize myself, and I can’t help the massive grin that pulls at my face. 

Even now, I’m baffled and amazed at where I’ve ended up, when not even a year ago, I was stuck out on my own in the middle of nowhere. I’ve been hesitant to tell the Archmage about it, but my memories have been trickling back in over the last few weeks. Slowly, in mismatched pieces. 

The one thing I know for certain is that my mother is dead. I have no clue of anything about my father, who he might be and whether he’s alive or dead. It was just me and mum for a long while, but she got sick. After that, I was on my own. I wandered around from farm to town, staying for short periods of times with people willing to put me up for a few days until they sent me on my way. When I couldn’t find anyone to take me, I just slept on the streets or in a tree, usually. 

It was my magic, I think. It’s so powerful, even to folks without magic, that it made them squirrely and uncomfortable to be around me. That’s changed a bit now, since I’ve been learning to control it.

But it’s all still so wild to me that I’m suddenly going to the biggest social event in the kingdom, after everything that I’ve been through. I don’t know if it’s luck or something more sinister that’s put me where I am. 

I hurry to put my new clothes and my mask away before the other boys can come back and see me prancing around like a prat. 

 

**BASILTON**

There’s something going on in my chambers. 

I haven’t told anyone else about it yet, but for the last two days, my rooms have been positively freezing, no matter what kinds of fires I light or how much I wrap myself in furs. I won’t let the maids in to straighten up because I’m worried something will happen. It has to be magical, there’s nothing else it  _ could _ be. I know that during the winter, magic is stronger and all sorts of odd things go on, but I’ve never experienced something so intense from it. 

It’s gotten to the point that I’ve been avoiding my rooms, choosing instead to just wander the castle all night. But by Wednesday afternoon, I’m so tired that I don’t have a choice but to return, so I can sleep. 

When I get there, I find that someone must’ve been inside, because my new clothes are hung in the closet, and a package waiting on my bed. Annoyed as I am that someone went in against my orders, I’m too excited about the delivery of my mask. I tear the packaging open, carefully pulling out the mask. Something else falls out of the box, dropping to my bed slowly. I pick it up and realize it’s another mask, black and completely nondescript. I’d forgotten, in the strangeness of that shop, to ask about a plain one - but somehow, Ebeneza had still delivered. 

The clothes I’d had ordered are perfect as well, and I try them on just to see how they look with the mask. Vera definitely outdid herself, easily the most regal of costumes I’ve had for any of the masquerades thus far. I stand in front of my massive mirror and look myself over. The long tunic is decorated around the neck with beadwork and gems, and a long silver fur drape that goes over my shoulders. The mask actually matches the whole ensemble perfectly, in a way I hadn’t imagined it could. 

I always make a striking figure, but this year will be one to remember. 

Just as I’m pulling the mask off, the temperature in my room takes a sharp downward dive. It was already frigid, but now I can see my breath billowing in front of my face, and feel needles in my fingertips. I’m immediately on alert, turning my head this way and that and preparing myself to fight. 

“Who’s there?” I call in a strong voice, bringing fires to the palms of my hands, but a sudden wind rushes through and blows them out like a candle. 

I turn again, panic rising in me - and that’s when I see her. A tall, broad woman, standing still in the doorway to my sleeping chambers. She’s not exactly solid, because I can see the room beyond her. It takes me a second to realize that she looks just like the portrait I walk by every day, of me and my father - and my mother. 

“Mum?” I choke out, my hands falling to my sides. “Is that you?” 

She moves toward me, drifting as if on air, and stops in front of me. It’s definitely her, that high nose and stubborn chin mirroring my own. Her hand lifts to touch my face, but instead passes through me, leaving me even colder than I was before. “Basilton. My son.” I can’t help the tears that fill my eyes, falling unbidden down my cheeks. “Listen to me, for I can’t linger. My love, you’re in terrible danger. My killer is still at large, and making moves against you. Trust no one. Go to the Wavering Woods, find Nicodemus -” 

Even as she’s speaking, her voice is fading. “No - mum, no, come back!” Before she disappears completely, she leans down and presses a kiss to my temple, and I actually feel it. And then she’s gone. 

Warmth floods into the room as I fall to my knees, but I’m frozen through. I’d heard mention in the past that the Veil, which separates the living world from the dead, grows thinner during the winter, but I’d never believed it. 

My mum came back to see me - to warn me, to protect me.  _ Trust no one.  _ The Wavering Woods - who is Nicodemus? My head is a mess, whirling with anxieties and unanswered questions. The place where I felt her lips is like ice. 

I have to resist the urge to surge up and go now, cover myself with a cloak and ride for the Wavering Woods. It’s a massive forest some distance north of the city, supposed filled with monsters and weird magic. The idea that I’m supposed to find anyone there is intimidating to say the least, but I’ll do anything my mother wants me to. 

If I’m in danger - is it even safe for me to stay here? If I were to disappear now, the whole castle would go into an uproar, here in the middle of the winter festival when there’s so much going on. I’ll have to wait until after the closing ceremonies on Saturday, if I can make it that long without snapping like a branch. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The day of the masquerade ball finally arrives. Basilton makes his preparations, and Simon makes some new friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 thanks for all the love babes!

_Friday_

**SIMON**

On the morning of the masquerade, I’m up and about before the sun has even really emerged outside. I accidentally knock over a stack of books, and one of the boys in my dorm grumbles at me to ‘shut it.’ I’m far more careful as I creep around getting dressed, and on my way out, I nick a plain mask from beside the boy’s bed before I leave the room - I don’t want to wear my extravagant mask just to go out in the city.

I tie on the mask as I step out into the street, gratified to find it very quiet this morning. I need to get a pair of boots for tonight, so I wanted to get out early and avoid the crowds. The cobbler is on the other side of the city, but I take my time, enjoying the coolness in the air, since I usually run too hot.

The cobbler’s a nice man with an army of children helping around the shop, all of them in different tiny masks they obviously made themselves. His wife watches us from a rocking chair, where she’s being run over by even more, younger children, and I think they both must be very tired. The man leads me around the store, pointing out different types of leathers and buckles and the sort, but I have no idea how to differentiate.

“I just need them to be comfortable,” I tell him a bit hopelessly, unsure of what else to look for in a pair of shoes. “Comfortable and nice, I’m wearing them to the masquerade tonight.” This leads to a flurry of questions not only from the cobbler, but several of the children too. Am I a noble? How did I get an invitation? What’s the Archmage like? Can I show them some magic?

I oblige for the kids, squatting close to the ground and bringing up a basic light globe in my palms, moving it back and forth to make it morph. The children gather around my hands, looking awed, while their parents chuckle in the background. One of them reaches out to touch it, and the ball reacts to his touch, shifting around his fingers.

“It looks like you might have some magic of your own,” I tell him, and he gasps, pulling his hand away and staring at his fingers.

“We’d been wondering about that,” the cobbler’s wife says, sounding worn out. “He keeps setting fires. Little ones, but still.”

I laugh at this. “That, or he’s gotten his hands on a box of matches.”

In the end, I leave with a fine pair of dark leather boots, with small gold clasps going all the way up the front of the calf. They fit really well, and the cobbler gave me a good deal for them, probably because I was so good with the kids. The streets are much busier when I step outside, people beginning their festivities for the day. Seeing everyone I pass in masks is sort of comedic, but overall has a nice effect. They’ve all sorts of different sizes and colors, some decorated with feathers, jewels, and other types of things.

As I slip through one of the squares, I’m nearly bowled over by a sudden lurch in my stomach, like I got an electric shock. I’m to the point that I recognize this feeling, but it’s never been this strong, and I don’t even see the prince. I whip my head around, trying to spot him, but it’s so difficult with everyone behind masks.

Then I spot him, dipping into one of the alleys on the far side of the square. I only recognize him because he’s so damn tall, with all that black hair and his narrow shoulders. People fuss at me as I shove by them, cutting through the crowd to reach him before I lose him completely.

I step into the alley just as Baz turns the corner at the end, and I race after him, my footsteps pounding loudly in the empty space. As I come even with the wall, I realize it’s a dead end, no other way to go. I spin around, confused, just as an arm suddenly appears out of nowhere and pins me to the wall.

“It’s me!” I rasp, scrabbling at his grip with my hands. “It’s me, it’s Simon -”

“I know it’s you,” Basilton snarls, pressing harder against my windpipe. “Why are you following me?”

“I can tell you if you stop choking me!” He practically growls as he whips his arm back, taking a step away and fixing me with a glare. It’s probably a terrible time to realize that he’s a few inches taller than I am, and behind his mask, his green eyes look like emeralds.

I rub my throat, taking in a grateful breath of air, and I can see him growing impatient. “I just saw you across the square and wanted to say hello,” I tell him, my voice raw from the abuse. “What’s the matter with you?”

“You expect me to believe that?” he snaps, leaning forward. “Tell me the truth, or I’ll make you regret it.”

“Gonna turn invisible on me again?” I lash back, not giving an inch, stretching to my full height. He startles back like I’ve slapped him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The lie would be convincing if he didn’t look so frightened.

“Cut the shit,” I say in a lower voice, steadily getting more annoyed. “I _know_ you have magic, I can feel it reacting to mine whenever I’m around you. And you’re doing an awful job at hiding it, turning invisible practically every time I’ve seen you.” I throw my hands in the hair. “Why are you trying to pretend like you _don’t_ have any?!”

He glances down the alley like he’s terrified of someone hearing us, but there’s no one there, I made sure there wasn’t. “There are a lot of reasons for me to hide my magic,” he hisses, leaning in closer so that I feel like I should draw back, but I don’t. “Reasons that _you_ don’t need to know about. But you can’t tell _anyone_ -”

“Why the hell would I?” My eyes flick down once to his lips, pressed hard into a frown. “I’m not a bloody snitch.”

Basilton steps back and we survey one another in a moment of tense silence. I realize now that he’s got a bag on his shoulders, and, for some reason, a length of rope attached to his belt. “What are you doing out and about anyways? Aren’t you supposed to have a guard, being the crown prince and all that?”

“I had some shopping to do,” he says tightly, still glaring down at me.

“Surely the crown prince doesn’t do his own shopping. Are we in a recession?” The joke almost makes him smile, a corner of his mouth twitching just enough for me to notice.

“I… don’t want my administration to know everything I’m doing all of the time,” he says slowly, licking his lips and breaking my gaze. “I needed some supplies for something I have to do.”

“That sounds ominous.” He doesn’t reply, just grunts and turns to leave the alley. For some reason, I’m desperate to get him to stay, my magic doing cartwheels in my stomach, and I blurt out, “At least save me a dance tonight, eh?” This gets him to stop, turning slowly on the balls of his feet to stare hard at me.

“You’re going to the ball?”

I nod, taking a step in his direction. “Yeh, the Archmage said I had to.” The lines around his mouth harden as I mention the Archmage, and I wonder for the first time if they don’t get on as well as the Archmage likes to portray that they do. “Just - save me a dance, okay?” He doesn’t say anything else, a beat passing before he gives me a curt nod and then takes off. At the end of the alley he looks back at me, gives a small wave, and ducks out of sight.

All the way back to the dorms I’m kicking myself. _‘Save me a dance, eh?’_ He must think I’m a moron. I know he does. But at least he admitted to having magic - that’s progress, right?

 

**BASILTON**

The city streets start to feel more claustrophobic than freeing, and I find myself hurrying to finish my search for supplies. I leave Simon with my chest tight and uncomfortable, but no idea why. I can’t fathom why I decided to be honest with him about my magic. There wasn’t really a way out of it, he already _knew_ , what choice did I have? But it left me feeling ill, that someone so close to the Archmage should know my secret.

It’s not that I don’t trust Simon - but I don’t know him, not really. Just because I like his curly hair and his dimples doesn’t make him worthy of my confidences. If I can just make it to the end of the festival, I’ll be able to quit this cursed city and hunt the answers I’m looking for, even to the ends of the earth.

My bag is feeling heavy by the time I make my way back to the castle. I’m not paying attention, my mind still out in the streets with a boy - and I don’t zone back in until I realize there’s a body blocking my path.

The Archmage stares me down. In the last two years I’ve grown so much that we’re eye to eye now, and I know he hates it. I draw myself up to my full height, trying not to look like he just caught me sneaking back into the castle.

“Lord Prince,” he jeers. “Did you think I was unaware of your little secret door? I know this castle inside and out, I’ve known the whole time.”

I have to keep this conversation under my control. My voice is carefully cool as I say, “It’s not as though I was attempting to hide it from you, my lord. I was depending on you to keep an eye on me.”

“Then why not take a guard with you? It is your responsibility as the Crown Prince to be careful with your life, so that you will not damage the kingdom - by shirking your entourage, you shirk your duties!” His eyebrows snap down. “Unless you’re attempting to hide where you’ve been.”

The sneer that curls my lip up is involuntary at this point. “It’s none of your business whether I am or not. Now, I really must be going, I have a ball to ready myself for.” I start to move past him but he moves his body in my way, then takes another step into my space. I don’t have anywhere to go, with the door closed behind me - but I’m not willing to give an inch in this standoff.

“Maybe it’s because you don’t feel like you need someone else’s protection,” he says quietly, confidentially, like we’re sharing a secret.

“I do have my sword at all times,” I say drily, quirking a brow at him. “And I’ve been training in swordfighting since the time I could hold one, so -”

He cuts me off. “Something more dire than swordplay, _Lord Prince_.” His voice drops again. “Something… divine.”

It’s like all my blood suddenly turns to ice, then drains out of me. It takes all of my discipline to say in a voice that doesn’t quake, “I’ve no clue what you mean. Let me pass.”

He holds my gaze for several more heartbeats, his eyes boring into mine. I meet them squarely, making sure nothing is conveyed through them. I almost expect him to strike at me, to force me to prove him right. But he moves aside in one step, gesturing with his arm for me to continue.

“Of course, Lord Prince,” he says in a voice like oil. “My greatest apologies. Go and make your preparations.”

I don’t linger. With my chin up and my shoulders squared, I continue into the castle.

When I’m out of his sight and hearing, I run.

 

“It was downright chilling,” I tell Dev, as he’s lounging in one of the armchairs in my apartments. “I’ve no clue how he’s deduced it, the slimy bastard, but he _knows_. He knows about my magic. How does he know?!”

“Take a deep breath, cousin,” Dev drawls, watching me pace. “You’re going to drive yourself mad going back and forth like this. Sit down.”

Normally I’d snap at him to fuck off, but I throw myself down in the seat next to him and put my face in my hands. The ball is a few hours out, but I’m so wound up with anxiety now I’m not sure I can even manage it. When I tell Dev as much, he practically laughs in my face.

“You’re a Pitch, aren’t you? Are you really going to back down so easily? That’s exactly what Davy wants. Are you going to give it to him?” I glare at him, but he doesn’t even flinch, just stares at me with that patently bored expression I taught him.

“Of course not. But I’m allowed to be edgy.” An eyeroll at this, and I smirk.

“You’re always edgy.” Dev pushes up from his chair and claps his hand to my shoulder, giving me a rare smile. “Get ready. I know weapons aren’t allowed in the ballroom, but I don’t think it would be amiss for you to tuck a knife in your boot, just in case.” He lets himself out of the room, and I force myself to breathe deep.

I know he’s right. And I wasn’t ever really going to back down, especially not to fucking Davy. I don’t know what his motives might be, or if he’s even planning something, but either way - I’ll be ready for him.

 

**PENELOPE**

I smooth my hands once down the front of my gown, quirking my lips at myself in the mirror. The tailor did an excellent job, considering how specific my requests were. The beading around the neck, sleeves, and hem is intricate and beautiful, so much that I’m not even sure how he did it in the time it took. Even the drape that goes with it has the beading all the way around.

As I put my mask on, I’m floored by how well it all works together. Magic was obviously involved, but I’ve no issue with it.

When I leave the library, Simon is waiting for me in the corridor. He looks spectacularly regal, with his hair smoothed back and his mask pairing perfectly with his suit. He sees me, and his jaw drops.

“Penelope,” he says, pushing off the wall and coming toward me. “You look - amazing.”

I tuck my hair behind my ear, smiling softly. Instead of my usual bun, I decided to wear part of it in a ponytail on the crown of my head, with the rest of it rolling down over my shoulders and back. “Thank you, Simon. So do you, very smart.” I run my hands over his fur wrap, then tug on it once. “This is so soft! It’s frigid outside, I wish I’d thought to ask for fur.”

“I didn’t even ask for it,” he tells me, offering me his arm. “It was just there.”

“Hmph.” We glide through the halls of the school, and everyone we pass tells us how lovely we look. It’s frankly embarrassing. I’m even wearing makeup, heavy around my eyes that peek through the mask.

In the courtyard, there’s a gilded carriage waiting for us. “The Archmage sent this for us,” Simon says giddily, helping me up the little step to the door. “So we don’t have to walk or anything. Can you imagine, walking through the city like this?”

“We’d be robbed before we got to the gates,” I snort. We’re both laughing as the footman closes us in and the wheels start to turn beneath us.

It’s hard not to feel the anxiety rising in my chest as we make our way slowly toward the castle. I lift the curtain so we can watch the streets go by, the people watching our progression with some distinct interest. There are very rarely nice carriages in this part of town.

Before too long, the castle is rising up in front of us. It grew steadily darker as we approached, and now, in the twilight, the many braziers and torches stand out in great relief through the night. There’s a whole line of carriages in front of us now, as nobles from throughout the city and even beyond the capital arrive.

“Micah and his parents are going to be here tonight,” I tell Simon, talking just to fill the nervous air inside the wheelhouse. “I’ll introduce you to him, I know you two will get on.”

“Oh, cheers,” he says, jumping like I startled him out of some deep thought. “It’ll be nice to put a face to a name.”

I’ve been promised to Micah for a few years, since we were both about thirteen. Normally my parents are against all that arranged relationships sort of thing, calling it ‘prehistoric,’ but Micah and I got along so well as kids (and he was the only person I’d found who could really keep up with me, intellectually) that we both requested it.

The carriage grinds to a final stop, the sound of the step being lowered with a clunk from outside. Simon suddenly grips my hand and squeezes it once, looking for reassurance. I return the squeeze affectionately.

“Thanks for coming with me, Pen,” he whispers. “I don’t think I could have made it without you.” The door swings open.

Outside, the air is practically humming with activity. There are footmen rushing around all over the place, and fancily-dressed people walking arm and arm toward the massive doors of the palace. Some of them look at us sidelong, but rather than curling their lips, they just look away. Even growing up amongst the nobility, I rarely get such a kind reaction. We must look quite the pair.

Simon is practically quivering beside me. I can tell he’s nervous because I can feel his magic like an open fire, making me far too warm. I squeeze his arm.

“Breathe deeply, and be cool,” I murmur to him, and he laughs.

“You know I’m always hot,” he says back, and as we both snicker, I actually feel the temperature come down some.

We pass through the entrance way, and Simon lets out a low whistle. The Grand Way has been made up like I’ve never seen it before, dripping with glittering lights and filled with the soft murmur of the crowd heading toward the ballroom, up the twin staircases into the main part of the castle. The massive room shimmers with magic, as many of the city’s magisters are employed to help decorate for the festivities.

Some of them are present now. Every guest must pass through a magic line that’s drawn in the floor and observed by the magisters, to detect anyone carrying weapons. It’s tradition that only the castle guards are allowed weapons on the night of the masquerade, and the rule has never been broken, even among the families that have been quarreling and skirmishing for generations.

Of course, we walk by easily and continue on with the throng, happy to be carried in the right direction. As we draw up to the staircase, I let out a sigh. “These damnable shoes,” I grumble, grabbing a handful of my dress and lifting it so I might have an easier time. With that and the steadiness of Simon’s arm, we make it up without incident.

“Good evening, my lady, my lord,” says a steward as we get closer to the doors of the ballroom. “If you would tell me your names and titles, I will announce your entrance.”

“Our what?” Simon panics beside me, looking down at me with wide eyes. He really is lucky I’m here.

“Lady Penelope Bunce, Bookkeeper magister,” I say, pointing at my chest. “And this is Simon Salisbury, Apprentice to the Archmage.”

“Very good, my lady,” the steward replies with a shallow dip at his waist, before he gestures for us to go on. Simon keeps whispering thanks to me, and I just shake my head and smile.

“Straighten your back,” I remind him. “Lift your chin and walk like you own everything in the world. You’ll blend right in.”

I’m impressed by how easily he picks the movement up, lengthening his neck and putting his shoulders back. People are looking at us again and muttering behind their hands - they must have heard me identifying the two of us. Or maybe they’re admiring our masks. Some of the others present are nice enough, but ours are positively the finest in this part of the crowd.

When we’re next to be announced, Simon’s grip on my arm gets a little tighter. I pat his hand and smile, ready for anything, and we step together into the blinding light of the castle’s largest and most grand ballroom.

 

It’s an exhausting practice, having to make our rounds of the present nobility and introduce ourselves, simpering and smiling. All this bootlicking is half of the reason I left behind much of the noble life for an intellectual one. Everyone is very complimentary of us though, and especially our masks. There are a few that might be as fine, but not many.

“That was awful,” Simon says, a bit breathlessly, when we finally finish and are by ourselves in a corner. Micah went to get us drinks in his handsome mask, painted like a thick patch of leaves, and I peel off my shoes, grateful for even a moment to get to wiggle my toes. “And the prince isn’t even -” He breaks off whatever he was going to say, the visible parts of his face turning nearly the same color as my dress.

“The prince?” I sit up and stare at him. “What about the prince? You’re not still going on about all that stuff, are you?!”

“No!” he says defensively. “I was just - I was just hoping to see him. To say hi.”

I shake my head. “To say _hi_ , Simon, really? He’s a _prince_. He doesn’t have time for us.”

“Does too,” Simon says, sounding nearly like a petulant child. “I’ve talked to him several times since that time in the castle. Kept running into him around the city. Once at night, and then this morning.”

“How’d you get through his entourage?”

“Didn’t have one. He keeps sneaking out, apparently. I think something’s going on, to be frank.” He stretches his neck to do another once-over of the ballroom, but the prince’s arrival would create much more fanfare. “We’re friends.”

I don’t reply to that. Instead I watch him, my eyes narrowing. He looks even more nervous, twitching and glancing around, and feeling more than a little like someone’s blown his candle out.

“Holy hells, you _like_ him!” I say accusingly, pointing at him. The part of his face that I can see immediately darkens further.

“Shut up, shut up!” he hisses through his teeth, before burying his face in his hands, which is a little redundant with the mask, but I don’t say so. “Pen, please!”

“You do!” I cry, then burst into laughter I can’t contain. “I _knew_ there was a reason you were looking at all those _love magic_ books!” I shove his shoulder. “Do you really think he’s your soulmate, Simon?”

Through his fingers, Simon groans, “Penny, I swear I’m going to -”

“Sorry, sorry!” I amend, forcing myself to lower my voice. “Is that what you think, though?”

“ _No_ ,” he insists, sitting up and looking me in the face again. There are actual tears in his eyes, barely visible, and I feel twice as bad for making fun. “I just - I want to be his friend, like people are. Like real people _do_. Y’know?”

“Yeah,” I say, even though I don’t. “Yeah, I’m sorry. Don’t worry, I’m sure he’ll be here soon.” Now Simon doesn’t reply, sitting back in his seat and folding his arms across his chest. I watch him without watching him, worried he’s mad at me, but I think he’s just feeling dejected, so I leave him alone.

Thankfully, Micah returns before long, and chatting with him brings Simon’s mood up somewhat.

And then I see someone familiar passing by, and call her over to us.

“Simon, Micah, meet Lady Agatha Wellbelove,” I introduce her, giving her a wide grin as she approaches. She looks absolutely stunning as always, a complete show-stopper with all that blonde hair and fair skin. She’s got this form fitting blush gown on, flowing out like water to the floor. Her mask is of a similar shade of pink, with gold accents spreading out from the sides. And she looks damn toasty, with white satin gloves up to her elbows and a huge fur drape resting over the crooks of her arms.

“We’ve met,” Micah says, giving her a little dip of his head. “Good to see you again, my lady.” Simon, however, is silent, his mouth hanging open just a little bit. I shove him with my elbow, and he jumps.

“Oh!” He takes the hand Agatha had presented and leans over to press his lips to the back. “I-it’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, my lady. I’m -”

“Simon Salisbury,” she says to him, smiling mysteriously. “I know who you are. Penelope’s told me a thing or two about you, as has my fiancée. It’s lovely to finally meet you.”

Oh no. “Your fiancée?” Simon asks, looking from Agatha to me in question.

I flinch just as Agatha says, “Yes, I’ve been promised to the Lord Prince since we were children.” I still can’t see Simon’s face, but the feeling of his magic shifts again. It’s less like someone blew out his flame - now it’s like someone doused him in ice water.

“Ah!” he says, his voice coming out like a painful squeak. I’m the only one who seems to notice though, because Agatha keeps smiling and asking him questions about magic and the school, which he answers a bit tightly.

“Care to dance, Pen?” Micah asks me after a song ends, standing and offering me his large, beautiful hand. I look at Simon, who takes it almost a cue, asking Agatha to do the same.

I take the hand Micah’s offered to me, and follow him out to the dance floor.

 

**AGATHA**

The Archmage’s apprentice feels like he’s about to set us both on fire as he leads us out among the dancers, all waiting for the next song to begin. I’m thankful it’s a slow one, simple steps, because I’m not even sure he knows how to dance, since he lets me lead us through it. But he’s not nearly as bad as I anticipated, so we chat while we twirl.

“You can call me Agatha,” I tell him toward the end of the song, and he opens his mouth like he’s surprised. “Any friend of Penelope’s is a friend of mine.”

“Oh,” he says, and a smile spreads across his face. “Excellent, thanks. I’d love to be friends.”

He doesn’t sound like he entirely means it, but I don’t have any time to wonder why as the doors are thrown open again. Most of the guests arrived earlier, even the Archmage showed up an hour ago, so the stewards closed the doors - and I expect I know who the latecomer is.

“Announcing,” the herald calls out as the music slows and then halts, and chattering fills the hall, “His Lord Highness, the Crown Prince to the Kingdom of Watford - Prince Tyrannus Basilton Pitch!” He does so like to make a grand appearance.

I try not to roll my eyes as everyone applauds, like it’s some great feat that he’s managed to show. I don’t clap. I never do. I just watch Simon, because his reaction to Basilton’s entrance is far more interesting than the entrance itself. It’s like he lights up, his magic (more powerful than anyone’s magic I’ve ever felt, even Basilton’s) surges, and he pushes up on the balls of his feet. It’s like I’m not even here.

He’s so unaware of anything else that when I slip away, he doesn’t even notice, just keeps straining to catch Baz’s eye over the heads of the other guests. They’re both so tall, there are only a few others in the hall that match them.

“Their masks match,” a voice says beside me, and I startle to see Penelope and Micah there.

“Oh.” I blink at her, then look back at Simon. “What?”

She points at Basilton, looking resplendent in all that silver and black, and his mask like the moon - then points at Simon, whose mask is the sun. “They - they match.” She sounds breathless and confused, staring at them with eyes wide behind her own mask.

I keep watching Basilton, trying to process Penelope’s words. It’s clear the moment he spots Simon - I know his magic like I know my own, can pick it out from a crowd even this massive, and I feel it shift all the way across the room. Like panic, but sweeter.

He’s never _giddy._

I’ve always been the good daughter, the exemplary court lady my parents so wanted me to be. When I was promised to the Crown Prince, I was ecstatic. But being the child I was, I had no idea what it really meant. What it would mean in the future to be tethered to someone, bound by some silly agreement from years previous made to curry favor.

I’m so tired of going through all the motions. If it were up to me, I’d take my horse and disappear, gallop her to wherever I wanted and never answer to anyone again.

Beyond that, though, I’m terrified at the lack of - something, that I think I’m supposed to feel in my chest. Basilton is my future husband. I’m meant to bear his children, keep his counsel, manage his castle. I’m supposed to love him.

Instead? I just exist. He’s my friend, and I love him for that, but there’s nothing else.

Which is why I’m positively intrigued by Simon’s obvious interest in him. The apprentice cuts through the crowd pressing in on Basilton with surprising ease, for someone so big. When he draws up with Basilton, he leans in close to speak to him. (I’m shocked to see Basilton is taller than Simon). I watch as Basilton excuses himself from the lord who was speaking to (at) him, takes Simon’s hand, and leads him out to the dance floor.

The musicians are quick to strike up another song, when they see the Crown Prince preparing for his first dance of the night. No matter that it’s with some unknown man.

No matter that it’s not with me.

I can see Penelope looking up at me from the corner of my eye, but I find I’m not even jealous. I adjust the wrap around my arms, then look at Penelope and smile. She returns the grin, but slowly, like she’s unsure.

“Excuse me, you two,” I say to them quietly, then duck into the crowd and disappear before they can question me.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basilton and Simon share a dance, and some long-buried truth comes to light.

**BASILTON**

The ballroom is full when I make my entrance, which is exactly what I wanted. It’s hard to explain, but my dramatics are the only way I can feel something most of the time. The rest of it is simply mundanity.

My eyes roam the crowd. Already they begin to press in on me, speaking at me, seeking my attention so they might gain my favor. I entertain it for a moment, but when my eyes land on Simon, they all go mute to my ears.

His head is above most of the others, wearing a brilliant golden mask like the sun. Because that’s what he is, and I realize I’ve been crashing into him this whole time. An eclipse.

I watch him make his way nimbly through the shifting bodies, cutting through like a hot knife through butter. Hurrying to me, staring so intently at me that I feel it to the very soles of my feet. My magic is like a galloping horse in the pit of my gut, and I know it’s because of him. Agatha is here somewhere, and I’m surrounded by the people of my court and my kingdom, but all I see is him.

He stops in front of me. There’s a lord to my left, rambling at me and gesturing with his hands, even as Simon leans in close to speak in my ear.

“ _How about that dance you promised me?_ ”

I don’t even hesitate, just nod my head and take his hand. “Excuse us.” The lord stops talking, looking affronted at my complete disregard as I pull Simon along behind me, out to the floor. We’re only on the floor a moment before the musicians strike up again, quick to begin a new song when they see me preparing to dance. The music they launch to is almost sultry, but I’m not complaining.

Surprisingly, Simon actually knows the steps, and I let him lead. I’m thankful he can’t see my face, because I know I’m bright red. But I can’t see his either, so there’s no reading him. The only senses I get from him come from his body and his magic - both of which are burning hot and immensely comforting.

When he dips me, I let out a shocked bark of laughter, and his lips twist up in a wicked grin. The bastard is enjoying this.

People are watching us, that’s for certain. I can feel their eyes on us, can practically sense the gossip that is sure to flood the rumor mills in the following days, maybe even weeks. But neither of us care, because we’re too wrapped up in each other. Under my hands, Simon is broader than I’d realized before, and his hands are strong and firm.

I’m a fucking goner.

The song ends, and we’re left in the middle of the floor, so close together that our chests touch as they heave with labored breath. His eyes do it again, like earlier in the city, flicking down for the barest time at my lips. I have to keep myself from slamming my lips into his right this moment. Instead, I step back like the other dancers and drop into a bow, and Simon mirrors the movement like he forgot.

“Lord Prince,” he whispers, stepping closer to me again as we straighten. “Basilton.”

I shake my head at him, the slightest movement, just enough for him to see. “Not here.” His lips purse and he nods his head, but when he takes my hand again, I’m grateful. We cut through the crowd to escape the next dance, and he leads me over to where his friend and an alarmingly tall dark lad are standing, staring at us.

“Pen, you remember Bas - Prince Basilton, right?” He looks at me. “Have you met Micah?” I assume he means the boy, who’s seemed to recover himself and dips in a low bow.

“I’ve not had the pleasure yet, Lord Prince. It’s an honor.”

“And you,” I say, suddenly out of my depth. “Micah, was it?”

“It’s good to see you again, Lord Prince,” Penelope says, smiling at me now and dipping her head. “That was a lovely dance.”

My face heats up, and I’m glad of the mask again. “Oh, goodness. It’s been such a long time since I’ve done that one, my feet were all over the place.”

“I thought you were brilliant,” Simon says beside me, and I watch Penelope fix him with a look that I can’t read. “Er - Lord Prince.”

Suddenly, I know that I need to leave. My chest is closing itself, and the air around me is starting to get brighter.

“I’m sorry,” I say them in a rush of breath. “If you’ll all excuse me.” I rip my hand from Simon’s grasp and hurry away, avoiding anyone who tries to get my attention and making a beeline for a side door.

Outside, without the people and noise pressing in from all sides, I can almost breathe again, but that panic is still rising in the back of my throat. Several people try to talk to me as I pass, but I ignore all of them, making my way to one of the balconies that opens to the air that I know will be empty, because it’s nearly on the opposite side of the castle from the party. From the crowds.

From the fear that’s begun to grip me whenever I’m around Simon.

 

**SIMON**

Penelope shoves my arm. “Go on, then. Go find him.” I look at her for a long moment, ignoring the tears pricking in the corners of my eyes. She pushes me again in the direction he ran. “I guarantee he’s waiting for you.”

“You think?”

This makes her snort. “Simon, I watched that entire dance. You two were practically making love on the floor. Go talk to him, he’s probably panicking just as much as you are right now.”

She’s right. I’m setting myself on fire from the inside, terrified of what comes next. But all I know for certain is that I have to go find Basilton. I _have_ to do that.

I give Penny a quick, tight hug before I lunge into the crowd, heading straight for the door I watched him disappear through. His magic is everywhere to me, I can almost smell it, like a hunting hound picking up a scent. The trail leads me through rooms and down corridors, moving as fast as I can through such confusing surroundings.

When I reach the door where I know he’s on the other side, I slow and then stop. He’s like a whirlwind of emotions, and I wonder for the briefest of seconds if I should leave him be, let him work it out on his own.

But I can’t. I have to -  _need_ to - see him, to feel him under my fingers.

I open the door.

Baz is alone, sitting cross-legged in a loveseat, hand over his mouth and his eyes gazing toward the horizon. He looks over at me as I step out, closing the door quietly behind me, but he doesn’t seem surprised, only resigned.

“I get overwhelmed easily in large gatherings,” he says softly, turning his eyes once more to the black sky. I got and sit beside him, not saying anything. “I knew no one would be over here, as far as it is from the party.”

“It was a bit of a jog to get to you, yeah.”

This makes him chuckle, but his smile doesn’t reach his eyes. He turns back to me.

“Why did you come after me?”

I narrow my eyes at him. How does he not know? Instead of answering, I move a little closer to him and take his hands. He looks down at our joined hands and takes a deep, shuddering breath.

“Someone is plotting to kill me.” This is the last thing I expected him to say, but he’s not even done. “My mother, who was killed when I was an infant, appeared to me as a ghost and told me that the person who killed her is still around, and that I’m in danger. That’s why I was out shopping that day, she told me to find someone and I needed supplies for the journey.” I can feel my eyes widening as he rambles, his voice growing thicker with each surprising reveal. “And I have an idea of who it is, and it’s awful, because then it changes - other things, things I don’t want to change, and I -” His voice breaks terribly. “I don’t know what to do.”

He sounds like he’s going to start crying. “You’re going to take care of it,” I tell him, because I’m not sure what else to say. “And you’re not going to do it alone. I’ll help you however I can.”

“But you don’t get it,” he hisses at me, looking away from my face. He starts to pull his hands away, but I don’t let him, squeezing them tightly.

“Then help me to.”

This time, when he looks at me, I’m sure he’s either going to hit me or kiss me. But instead, his eyes move to something behind me, something that makes his eyebrows shove downward. I turn to look.

Black billowing smoke creeps through the cracks around the balcony door, flooding to the ground and then swirling upward until there’s enough to create the rough shape of a man. Baz and I both surge up, and I drag him with me until we’re backed against the railing. The light is so dim, we can only make out the outline of the shade, but it’s staring right at us.

“You were supposed to be alone.” The figure’s voice is warped beyond any recognition.

I push in front of Basilton, thrusting my arm out in a protective gesture. “Yeah, well, he’s not. If you want to fuck with the prince, you’re going to have to get through me!”

 

**BASILTON**

The shade watches us in silence while Simon shouts abuse and threats at it. Finally, it speaks again.

“My orders…” The shape wavers. “My orders are to take out anyone who stands in the way. This means you, Apprentice. Stand aside or die.”

My blood turns to ice. _Apprentice_. Trying to give Simon a chance to go. I step out from behind Simon.

“You fucking bastard,” I say, leaning over to yank the knife from my boot. “I know who you are. I know what you’ve done. And I’m going to make you pay for it, a million times over.” The form shivers again, like it’s trying to process information.

“What’s a knife going to do against a smoke creature?!” Simon yells at me, his magic starting to spark and swirl around his hands.

“I’m doing the best I can with what I’ve got!” I shout back at him. But I realize don’t have anything to hide anymore, so I throw the knife aside and fill my palms with fire, taking a step toward the shade. “Surprised yet? Did you really think you could corner me so easily?”

This time, there’s no hesitation. “I’ve known all along. I’ve had fifteen years to learn all I can about the Pitch magic, that ancient lineage hidden in texts, if you knew where to look. Now everything will belong to me.” The shade lurches toward us, a massive dagger forming in its hand. I launch the fire in my palms into its chest, but it just keeps coming, completely unperturbed.

My magic has no effect. I almost come to peace with the thought that I’m about to die, but Simon has different plans. In a flash, he’s got me around the waist in his arm that grips me like iron, and throws at our feet a massive, exploding ball of power and magic.

There’s a crack like thunder as the balcony ruptures, stone breaking apart and the energy from the blast launching Simon and I high into the air. My last, mostly incoherent thought before I black out is that even if I die right this moment, at least I’ve got Simon’s arm around me.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon wakes up in a cabin in the middle of nowhere, with Baz passed out beside him and a blurry memory of the masquerade.

**SIMON**

I wake with sheets on top of me, and the feeling of another person beside me. I bolt upright and look around, and it takes me a moment to realize I’m in someone’s bed, inside some kind of cabin. Basilton is beside me, still out cold, his chest rising and falling slowly with the soft breaths of sleep. I resist the urge to touch his face; I’ve never seen him look so soft. 

There’s light pouring in through a window just above our heads, covered by pale, almost ratty curtains. I take stock of the rest of the room. The front door is cracked open, so I know we’re not alone, but there’s nobody in the house at the moment. The room only contains the bed we’re in, a lopsided chest-of-drawers, a wood oven, a table with three rough chairs, and several walking sticks, leaning in a corner near the door. And there’s one shelf set into the far wall, lined inexplicably with little glass figurines of farm animals. 

It takes a few moments for me to remember what happened. The masquerade, the shade, my explosion - it comes flooding back in. And everything Baz told me about his mother, which had him so distraught. 

I turn my head to look at his sleeping form again. A lock of dark hair has fallen across his face. This time, I can’t stop myself; I reach out and run the back of my finger over his prominent cheekbone, surprised by how soft his skin is. 

The door creaks open, and I drop my hand. I look up into the kind face of Ebeneza, the mysterious mask saleswoman. 

“How’re ‘ya feelin’?” she asks me, closing the door behind her and coming into the room fully with her walking stick. My anxieties are soothed somewhat, realizing we must be in her home. Her little goat follows at her heels, peeking at me from around her boots. 

“Like I’ve been pummeled mercilessly by a blunt instrument,” I admit, rubbing my eyes. “What happened? How’d we end up here?” 

She grabs one of the chairs and carries it over, setting it down quietly before sitting beside the bed. She smells like smoke and something earthy, and the scent comforts me immensely. “I found ‘ya both not far from here, in a crater and smoldering like a campfire. Neither of ‘ya hurt, but passed out. That was two days ago.” 

“Two days?!” I bury my face in my hands, groaning. “Everyone must be so worried…” 

“I tried to send a message to that friend of yours, Penelope,” Ebb says, looking at me sympathetically, “but I don’t know that it went through. You might try, now that you’re awake.” 

I glance at Baz. “Has he -?” 

Ebb shakes her head. “He’s not woken up yet either. I expect he will soon, though.” There’s a knowing tone in her voice, and she gets up and stumps back out of the cabin. 

Just as the door closes, Baz takes a massive sudden intake of breath and lurches up, his head whipping around as he tries to get his bearings. Ebb must have taken our coats and masks, because we’re just in our undershirts and trousers and stockings. 

“Hey, it’s okay!” I say, reaching out to try and calm him. “You’re okay, it’s Simon, it’s me -” 

“Simon?” His voice is fraught with panic, terror, and the sound almost kills me. “Where are we?” 

“We’re in the house of a woman named Ebeneza,” I tell him, speaking softly and in a reassuring way. “She found us and brought us here two days ago, we’ve both been out cold.”

“Ebeneza?” He sounds less panicked, just quiet and nervous. “The mask witch?” 

I blink at him. “Mask witch? Don’t tell me you bought your mask from her.” 

“Yes, and so did you. This is her house?” I nod at him, baffled by the whole situation, but it seems to put him as much at ease as it did me. But then he looks at me and something flashes in his eyes like fear, making me afraid to ask my next question.” 

“That shade… what  _ was  _ that? It wanted to kill you. It was going to kill both of us.” 

“It wouldn’t have killed you if you’d left me to die,” he spits, his face twisting unpleasantly. “Do you actually want to know the truth of it? Are you willing to listen and believe me?” 

“Of course,” I say, taken aback by the sourness in his face and his voice. I have no idea what he’s talking about, but I don’t like the feeling I’m getting, like he’s afraid of me.

He takes a deep, shuddering breath, like he’s steeling himself. “It was the Archmage. Your  _ mentor _ . He killed my mother fifteen years ago - and now, just a month before I come of age, he decided to get rid of me so he could take up the kingdom’s mantle for good. To be more than just the steward, but to become king.”

It takes me a second to process what he said, pursing my lips. Before I can even say anything, he’s thrown back the sheet draped over him and kicked his legs over the side of the bed. “I didn’t think so. Of course you don’t believe me. I don’t have time for this, I don’t fucking care -” 

I reach out and grab his arm to stop him from standing. “Wait! Wait. I just need a moment to think it over. That’s a lot to take in.” He doesn’t look at me, but he doesn’t pull away either. “Can you explain it to me? How you’ve figured it’s the Archmage who’s done all this?” 

Basilton lifts his eyes to mine. I think he can hear my sincerity in asking for his evidence, because his shoulders drop and he pulls one knee up beside him. “I’ve had my suspicions here and there for a while. The motive is fairly self-explanatory. As the kingdom’s steward, he’d be the next in line to take the throne, were I to die.” The way he speaks so casually of his own death gives me chills. “He knew about my family’s magic. I expect my mother put up a fight, so he’s known the whole time that I was hiding my magic from him.” 

“Why did you hide it, anyways?” I ask, still curious. 

“One of my ancestors was killed for his magic, a long time ago. Out of jealousy, or maybe fear. So after that, every Pitch was brought up learning to conceal their power from anyone outside of the family.” His hand clenches into a fist on the sheets. “And the Archmage  _ knew _ . He insinuated it to me the morning of the masquerade, practically threatened me. He might have researched it, but the only way he would have truly known is if he’s the one who killed my mum.” 

Something else occurs to me. “And the shade called me Apprentice,” I say slowly. Baz nods. “Only he ever called me that.” 

“That’s what clued me in, too. Kind of cinched it for me.” 

I shake my head, still shocked by all of this information. “I just - I believe you, but it’s so hard to. He’s been so good to me, taking me in, training me.” 

Basilton shrugs his shoulders. “You’re his little weapon. I expect he was going to build you up, teach you everything you need to know, and then send you off to fight his battles. If he’d had more time, maybe he would’ve sent you after me.” 

 

**BASILTON**

“I would never,” Simon says, furrowing his eyebrows at me. 

“Hm?” 

“Attack you. I’d never do anything to hurt you.” Suddenly, it feels like we’re not talking just about magic and politics. “And I’ll protect you, when I can.” A deep breath. “And - I’ll help you with this. I’m not sure I’m convinced - but if it really was the Archmage, I’ll help you bring him to justice.”

My eyes narrow at him. “Why?” 

“Because… he killed your mum. And that’s wrong.” I can tell he means it. He’s always so sincere, forthright. His conviction would be intimidating, were I easily intimidated. “Baz…” 

I shake my head, suddenly nervous. “Where did you even get that name from? Just shortening ‘Basilton?’”

“Yeh, it’s a bit of a mouthful. I like Baz.” 

“You do realize I’m still your sovereign, right?” 

“Do you  _ want  _ me to be extra formal?” He pushes up to his knees, reminding me that we’re sitting very close together on a bed. “Are you sure?” I look at him. 

Several people in my life have told me I’ve got a bad habit of pushing people away. Agatha. Dev. And I know they’re right, but breaking habits is hard. I’m not one to back down from a challenge, though. 

“No,” I say softly. When his eyes flick down to my mouth, that same movement again, I don’t hold back. I lean up toward him just as he leans down, and our lips press together roughly, firmly. His hands come up, clutching my jaw beneath his fingers, pulling me in, turning me to fire under his touch. 

We’re both messy, awkward. Is this his first kiss too? (First kiss with a boy?) In the silent room, our breathing is loud and obvious, but neither of us are really aware of it. 

 

**SIMON**

I’m kissing a boy. 

I’m kissing the  _ prince _ . 

How does this even happen? 

He’s hungry, and so am I, both of us pulling at the other and demanding a little more, pushing a little more. Like a battle, but we’re both going to win. Or maybe we’ll lose, in the end. That seems more likely. 

His mouth is driving me to distraction. When he nips me, I let out a surprised bark of laughter, and he draws back to furrow his brows at me. I press my thumb to his lips, my hand cupping his jaw, and he turns his head to kiss my palm without breaking our gaze. 

“Where’d that come from?” I whisper to him, not wanting to disrupt the quiet pressing in on us. 

“You tell me.” 

 

**BASILTON**

A shrug. “I’ve been wanting to kiss ‘ya for a while. It’s pretty much what I’d been hoping for.” 

This seems like a surprising admonition, but I find I’ve been considering the same thing. Even if I  _ know _ this is going to end in flames. I think he does too, but I’ll bet he’s less willing to admit it. “Hm.” 

Simon peers at me and sits back on his haunches, tilting his head. “Is that a good ‘hm’ or a bad ‘hm?’” 

It’s my turn to shrug. “It’s just a ‘hm,’ Simon. I’m just thinking. Aren’t you?” 

“Not really.” 

“What?” 

“I try not to -  _ think _ about things. Things that worry me, if I can’t do anything about them right now.” 

“You’re worried?” 

“Well -  _ yeah _ . I’m worried,” he murmurs, shuffling toward me again, “because I like ‘ya. Your face and your hair and your thorns and your fire. I can’t get enough of you. My eyes have been starving for you, and I didn’t even know it. And that scares the shit out of me.” 

I look at him, really look at him, and feel a tug in my chest that has nothing to do with magic and everything to do with him. “Looking at you is like looking at the sun,” I whisper, unable to say what I feel any louder. “Like I can’t look away.” This makes him grin broadly, and I smile shyly in return. 

The door creaks open behind us, and we startle apart. Ebeneza gives us a knowing look as she shuffles in. 

“Glad to see ‘ya awake, Lord Prince,” she says, taking off her fur cloak and draping it from a hook by the door. “Are ‘ya feelin’ alright?” 

“Call me Basilton,” I say immediately, shaking my head. “You’ve done so much. I’m feeling much better with all this rest, I don’t know how to thank you for your kindness.” 

“No need,” she replies, beaming at me. “Just glad to help. Hungry?” She thumps a sack down on the table, digging out a huge loaf of bread, some cheese, and several apples, and placing a skein of water alongside. I didn’t realize until now how hungry I am. Simon and I both practically bounce off the bed, and I cross the room in two strides to dig in. It’s incredibly undignified, but we eat until we’re full, dropping into the chairs and leaning back with satisfaction. 

Now that I’m full, I’m tired again, but I force myself to stay aware. 

“So we’ve been out for two days?” I ask Ebeneza, folding my arms over my chest. “That’s what Simon said.” 

She nods. “Yeh, I found ‘ya nearby in a crater of your own making, completely unhurt. Carried ‘ya back here to my house. I was hoping once you both woke, you’d tell me how you ended up planted in the ground like that.” 

Simon and I share a glance. He gives the most subtle of shrugs, and I nod in response. I think we both trust Ebeneza, despite hardly knowing her. So I tell her everything, starting with my suspicions about the Archmage, and the visit from my mother, and ending on Simon nearly blowing us to pieces. 

“Oi!” he argues, nudging my chair with his foot. “I knew what I was doing!” 

“You did  _ not _ ,” I say tersely. 

“Well I knew it wouldn’t  _ kill _ us,” he grumbles. “I didn’t see you doing anything better. Whipping out a knife? Against a shadow creature?” I open my mouth to snap back at him, but Ebeneza’s voice cuts across us both. 

“That’s quite a tale, boys,” she says, and her tone is firm enough that we stop in our bickering. “So what’s next? What’re ‘ya going to  _ do _ about it?” I frown. I glance at Simon, and he’s wearing a similar expression. 

What  _ is  _ next? There’s no way I can return to the castle now, not until we’ve done something about the Archmage. Knowing him, he’s likely begun spinning some tale about how I’ve betrayed the kingdom and should be arrested for treason, or something similar. No, I can’t go home until I’ve found a solution. 

I look at Simon again. Until  _ we’ve _ found a solution. He told me he’d help me, and I’ll hold him to it. His jaw is set stubbornly, and I have a feeling he’ll do whatever I ask him. 

My eyes return to Ebeneza, who’s watching me with a small smile. “We have to go to the Wavering Wood,” I tell her. “When my mother came to me with her warning, she told me to go to the Wood and seek someone named Nicodemus. That he would have answers for me.” The name escapes my mouth, and immediately the color drains from the witch’s face. 

“Hell’s spells,” she mutters, rubbing her eye for a moment. “Haven’t heard that name in a long while.” 

“You  _ know _ him?” I ask incredulously, leaning forward in my seat. “Can you take me to him?” 

She shakes her head vigorously, looking pained. “No, no. No, I can’t do that.” She swallows. “I - I can tell ‘ya about ‘im, but I can’t - I can’t go with ‘ya.” 

 

**SIMON**

I can tell Baz is getting frustrated, but I watch him make the effort to rein in his annoyance. 

“What can you tell us, then, Ebb?” I ask her, using the nickname she’d told me before, in her shop. “Anything that you think will help us. Please,” I add, since we’re in her home and she’s taken such care of us. Baz flashes me a grumpy look, and I wink at him. 

She passes her hand over her cheek, leaving some dirt in its wake. “Well, Nicky… he’s my brother. My twin brother.” She doesn’t allow us time to react to this revelation, pressing on. “He took off years an’ years ago, talking a bunch of hub-bub about becoming more than magic, or some nonsense like that. He went into the Wood and never -” She pauses, wiping tears that begin rolling down her cheeks. “He never came back.” 

“So he’s dead?” Baz asks bluntly, and I kick his chair. “Hey!” 

“I don’t think so,” Ebb says morosely, just letting the tears fall freely now. “I think - I think I’d  _ know  _ if he was dead, I’d feel it. He’s out there somewhere, without me to back him up like when we were kids.” She sniffles loudly, looking at Baz. “I don’t know what his connection to your mum might be, but he’ll be there, in the Wood. Waitin’ for ya, if I know ‘im at all.”

I reach out and place my hand on Ebb’s shoulder, and the touch seems to comfort her as she reaches up to squeeze my hand. “Is he powerful?” 

“Oh yeh,” she laughs, smiling despite herself. “We were both too powerful for our own goods as kids. Got into too much trouble, always testing and pushing boundaries.”

Baz gets up, straightening his collar like the aristocrat he is. “Alright, then. That’s where we’ll go. I know a few spells that may help us track him down.” He looks at me. “You’re coming?” 

It’s not much of a question, but the inflection tilts up a bit at the end. Covering himself, I think. 

“Of course. But we don’t have any supplies; no food, no spare clothes, no horses. I can’t teleport us like that again, it wiped us  _ both  _ out.” 

“I’ve some horses, and some food,” Ebb offers, still leaking silent tears. “You’re welcome to ‘em. Not much help for clothes though, I’m afraid.”

“Let’s not be too hasty with this,” I say to Baz, and he glares at me. “Don’t look at me like that, you know I’m right. Let me - let me try to talk to Penny first. Maybe she can help, or at least suggest something.”

He bites back whatever he was going to snarl at me and sits down again, folding up so tightly I’m worried he’ll snap in two. Ebb says something under her breath about checking on the horses and goes back outside, and I push back my sleeves. 

I learned some about contact spells, though the Archmage told me I didn’t really need to know much of it because I didn’t really have anyone to contact. That had stung enough that I took some of my free time and taught myself more that he hadn’t gone over. Penelope helped me with it, too, and told me the best way that I can get in touch with her, if I ever needed help. 

Thank goodness for her foresight. 

Baz watches me in sullen silence as I bring my magic up, muttering the incantation over and over until there’s a swirling vortex in front of my face. It’s mesmerizing, enough to completely break my focus, but I force myself to take a deep breath and reach out, my palm touching the surface. 

“Penelope Bunce,” I say clearly, amazed the spell is actually working on the first try. “Watford School of Magic.” 

There’s a long, terrifying moment where nothing happens. The vortex actually fizzles out for a second, and my shoulders slump, certain it’s failed on me. But then it sparks back to life, bringing up an image of Penelope’s shocked face. From the surroundings behind her, I think she’s in her apartment. 

“Simon!” She cries, leaning toward me in surprise. “And is that the prince? You’re alive?!” 

I glance back at Baz, who looks kind of impressed. “Uh, yeah, last time I checked. Why?” 

There are tears on Penny’s face. “The Archmage has been telling everyone that you’re both dead! That you were attacked and that you died!” 

“He - what?”

“Of course he has,” Baz groans, rubbing his forehead tiredly. “What a mess this is going to be.” 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Penelope tells Simon and Basilton about the situation in the capital with the Archmage, and they make a plan to move forward.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is another short one, but I'm just setting more things up :)))) love y'all <3

**PENELOPE**

“Tell us exactly what’s happened,” Simon demands, tilting in closer.

I force myself to wipe my eyes and center myself on the knowledge that they’re both  _ alive _ , they’re safe and they’re alive. “He’s pretty much declared himself king. He publicly announced your deaths, and has taken on ruling for himself, considering there are no other heirs for the throne.” 

The reactions on their faces are very different, and I watch them develop. Basilton looks royally pissed off, his forehead creasing as his brows sink down until they almost touch in the middle of his face. Simon looks like he’s been slapped. I wonder how he feels to realize his mentor is apparently a power-hungry opportunist. 

“So a murderer has crowned himself king of  _ my  _ kingdom,” Basilton grinds out, pushing up and beginning to pace behind Simon. “I’m going to wring his neck with my hands, magic be fucked.” 

“A murderer?” I turn my questioning eyes to Simon, who still just looks gobsmacked. “What does he mean?” 

“The Archmage apparently is the one who killed Baz’s mum, Queen Natasha,” Simon says quietly, glancing back at the pacing prince. “And he’s the one who attacked us at the masquerade, Penn. He would have killed us both, but I teleported us away.” 

“You  _ teleported _ ?” I stare at him. “There’s no precedent for that, Simon! We don’t have spells for that, the magic it would take -”

“It was a dangerous situation, I had to get us out of there,” he says heavily, like he’s trying to defend himself. “Can you tell us anything else about the situation there?” 

I’m not happy to drop the subject, but the expression on Simon’s face tells me to bring it up another time. “Well… he’s apparently had some damn personal army he’s been building up for a while, calling themselves the  _ Mage’s Men _ ,” I say disdainfully, wrinkling my nose. “They’ve taken over patrols and kingdom defense, and all but booted the guards that served the prince out.” 

It’s actually been very tense in the capital. The knights who were there under Basilton had belonged to his mother before that, so they were dedicated to the Pitch name only. So the Archmage all but instigated a coup to kick out that military force, so his own could fall into place. 

“This is so much worse than I imagined,” Simon groans, slumping in his seat. “I guess I just didn’t fully believe the Archmage was capable of all this, but… there we are.” 

“ _ I  _ believed it,” Basilton snarls behind him, still angrily stomping back and forth. “I saw this coming. I should have stopped it.” 

Simon reaches a hand out behind him to stop the prince, gripping his wrist and looking at him in a way that I feel like I wasn’t meant to see. “What could you have done? You can’t foresee everything.” 

I clear my throat, and they both startle, and Basilton resumes his pacing. “So what’s the plan? We’re not just going to let this stand, are we?” 

“Of course not,” Simon says, looking back at me and blushing a brilliant red. “We’re… working on a solution. It may just take us a while.”

He tells me about the mission Basilton’s mum put him up to, but it doesn’t reassure me. 

“But you two have no idea how long it will take to find this guy,” I point out. “The longer you’re gone and the kingdom believes you’re dead, the deeper his claws will sink in.” 

“She’s right,” Basilton says, stopping and leaning over the back of Simon’s chair to look at me. “Penelope - if you don’t mind, will you stay there, in the capital? Stay in the thick of it all, listen and observe, and let us know what’s going on when next we call? I imagine it’s probably dangerous there right now, but -” 

“Not a problem,” I tell him, nodding my head. “I can keep myself out of harm’s way and keep an eye on things. My family’s still here anyway, doing what they can to help anyone who might be at odds with the Archmage, so I’m not going anywhere.” 

The prince looks surprised. “I didn’t know the Bunce’s were on my family’s side.” 

“I don’t know about  _ on your side _ ,” I say truthfully, “as much as  _ not  _ on the Archmage’s side.” 

A snort at this. “Fair enough.” 

I look at Simon again, who just looks morose. I’m so glad to see he’s safe, but I don’t know how much longer that safety will last, especially if they’re heading into the Wavering Wood. There’s all sorts of creatures rumored to live there, magical monsters, and I’m terrified they’re going to get themselves killed. 

But I don’t want to scare them anymore than they must already be, so I just say, “Please be safe, you two. Let me know how you’re faring as soon as you can, alright?” 

“We will,” Simon promises, leaning forward. 

“Before you go,” Basilton says, dropping into the chair beside Simon. “Do you know how Agatha is? Is she safe? I’m worried the Archmage will take out his anger on losing me on her, for our association.” 

I shake my head. “She left the capital. The night of the masquerade, after they found that crater where you two were - I saw her leaving on horseback out the front gates amidst all the chaos.” Basilton sighs heavily, a look of relief flashing across his dark features. 

“Thank you, Penelope. I imagine she’s heading for her family’s estate in the country, where she’ll be safe.” 

“You’re quite welcome, Lord Prince.” 

“Call me Baz.” 

 

**BASILTON**

After we break the connection with Penelope, I’m actually feeling a lot better about everything. She’s so brilliant and logical that it all now seems very straightforward. 

“See if you can contact your family, Baz,” she’d said, scribbling some things down on a piece of parchment I couldn’t see. “They might be able to assist if it comes down to a combat situation, don’t you think?” She was absolutely right. A lot of the old, ancient families have built their own squadrons of soldiers over the years - and every one that was kicked from the capital will surely return to my family’s estate, where my aunt presided over the holdings with my father and stepmother. 

I can’t wait to see Fiona hit the roof over this shit. 

“I guess you can’t really send a letter,” Simon muses, tying up his boots. Penelope had managed to shove some clothing for us both through the vortex, though how she managed it, neither of us know. “No messenger. Will you use magic?” 

The clothing all belongs to Simon, and he’s wider than I am, and the shirt I pull on is very loose around the shoulders for me. “My aunt and I have worked out a system of communication over the years, so she can keep me up to date on the Pitch estate and I her on my place in the capital. It won’t be hard to get word to her to begin a muster of the troops.” 

“I can’t believe your family has a secret army too,” Simon snorts. “It’s like you were expecting something like this to happen.” 

“Most of the old families have them,” I say snippily, pulling on a coat with fur lining. I’m absolutely frozen through. “I bet Bunce’s family has one of their own as well.” 

He just grunts at this, pushing up from his chair and coming over to help me with my lacings. I let him, even though I’m capable of dressing myself, because having him this close and touching me is sort of what I wanted. I notice our height difference again, and ignore my desire to bend at the waist and press my lips to his. 

But maybe he has the same desire, or he can sense mine, because he slowly, languidly, rocks up onto his toes and kisses me. It’s soft and sweet, almost too much for me to handle in my stressed-out state, but I savor it. 

“We’ll have to talk more about this later,” he whispers to me, as our eyes flutter open. “Just don’t try to pretend like it didn’t happen. Okay?” I grunt, and he squeezes my bicep. “Baz.  _ Okay _ ?” 

“Fine,” I murmur back, popping a quick kiss to his forehead. “Later. Let’s go see where Ebeneza’s got to.” 

We find her outside, standing quietly in the frozen grass beside two beautiful horses, both saddled and ready, it seems. She looks up as we step outside, her eyebrows shooting up. “Where’d ‘ya get the clothes?” 

“Penelope sent them for us,” Simon explains, coming up beside her and the horses. “I’m quite cozy, I thought I’d be colder in this weather.” 

“Well I’m practically frostbitten. How are you not cold?” I rub my hands together in front of me, sparks rippling across my palms and warming me slightly.

“Guess I run hot,” he replies, grinning wickedly over at me so I have to look away, hiding the blush that spreads across my face.

Either Ebb doesn’t notice, or she just isn’t phased, instead just patting one of the bags attached to a saddle. “I packed you boys some food in here, but I don’t have much. You’ll likely need to get some more for yourselves along the way.” She looks at me, her expression serious. “Take care in the Wood. Move with caution, and trust each other. That’s the only way you’re going to have any success in there. The rumors are more than make-believe.” 

Her warning only hardens my resolve. “Thank you for everything, Ebb. You’ve been such a help.” I approach her and stoop to kiss both of her cheeks, before hauling myself into the saddle of one of the horses. Simon copies my farewell, throwing in a massive hug as well, before scrambling onto his horse. 

“I’ve not ridden in ages,” he says shakily, gripping the reins. “Ready?” 

Instead of replying, I kick my horse forward, not waiting to see if he follows me. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Simon and Baz set off for the Wavering Wood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all this is starting to drag I'm so sorry I'm strugglin'

**FIONA**

It startles me out of my skin when a wisp of smoke appears in front of my face and starts speaking to me in Basilton’s voice.

Even though the estate is far removed from literally everything else in the kingdom, I’ve always got my ear to the ground, looking for any kind of trouble that might disrupt my nephew and his seat on the throne of Watford. So I knew practically the moment that the damned Archmage started telling everyone that Basilton had died in an _‘accident.’_

I didn’t believe it for one minute.

Still, it scares me shitless when the wisp materializes, mostly because I wasn’t expecting it. “Fiona, I’m alive and I’m not hurt. With the Archmage’s apprentice, but he’s on my side. Long story. Determined that Archmage killed Mum, we can’t let him keep the throne. Start the muster, working on a solution now. Don’t do anything until I get to you. Trust the Bunces and the Wellbeloves if anything comes up.” I stare at the place where the wisp disappeared, struck dumb for a moment, before hurrying to grab a piece of parchment and scribbling down everything so I don’t forget.

“Malcolm,” I say as I slam my way into his study, “Basilton’s alive and on the move. We have to call up a muster.” Malcolm Grimm looks up at me from behind his desk, arching eyebrows shooting up to his awful pointed hairline that poor Basilton inherited.

“Are you certain?” The bastard is always so fucking cool about literally everything, including the news that his son is apparently _not_ dead. “Where is he?”

“I don’t know,” I snap, leaning over his desk to look him in the eye. “He sent me a message in the usual way. He said that the Archmage is the one - he’s responsible for Natasha’s murder.”

This gets his attention. I see it in the way his jaw hardens and his eyes snap like ice. The kind of ice that’ll break without warning and trap you beneath it.

“Call the muster,” he says in a dangerously quiet voice. “I will reach out to the others.”

I step back to the door, then turn to look at him once more. “Basilton also said to trust the Wellbelove’s and the Bunce’s. I’m not sure where the Bunce’s fit into it, but I imagine he’ll explain it to us when he returns. You might reach out to them as well.” With that, I leave the room and click the door shut smartly behind me.

 

**SIMON**

We spend the rest of the day on our horses, only stopping to let them rest, and then again when darkness settles in and makes it too dangerous to ride. I go about setting up a makeshift camp while Basilton conjures a fire, using a whiff of smoke from it to send a message to his aunt.

“You’re sure that’ll work?” I ask, somewhat disbelievingly. He spares me a curled-lip glance, before poking the campfire he’d started between us.

“I’m sure. It’s never had an issue before.” I nod in response to this, and we lapse back into the silence we’ve been riding in since we left Ebb’s this morning. I guess I’m not really sure what to say to him anymore. He’s so prickly all the time, and contrary, but also devilishly handsome and full of wit. I can’t even half tell if he actually _likes_ me, or if he’s just playing along because he needs my help. He seems the sort to play the game for as long as it suits him - and then set the whole thing on fire.

Just as I’m about to say something stupid that will probably annoy him, he speaks. “Are you sure you can handle it? Going against your mentor, like I intend to?”

I stare at him, startled. “What?”

His hands clench tightly in his lap. “Will you be able to stomach it? When I rip his throat out with my hands?” The fury in his voice is barely controlled, and I can hear it rumbling beneath the surface.

My own voice is quiet. “I don’t want to kill anyone.”

“You don’t have to kill anyone,” he says tightly. “I’ll kill him. I’ll cherish it.”

It’s clear he means every word. I’m not really in the state to argue with him, and I can’t really blame him for it, can I? The Archmage killed his mum. He tried to kill both of us. Maybe I _should_ help Basilton take him down. But he seems pretty determined to do it himself.

“Okay,” I say instead. He looks up at me, his expression breaking.

“Okay?”

I nod again. “Yeah. Fine. I told you I’d help you, didn’t I?” Now he doesn’t reply, instead returning to stoking the fire with a hand that shakes ever so slightly.

 

**BASILTON**

I don’t understand how he’s so calm about all this. Maybe it’s to do with the fact that he apparently doesn’t _think_. Not really surprising. He does seem like he might be a bit of a moron, and I don’t know why that makes me want to kiss him.

I _do_ want to. But I rarely indulge in the things I want; I prefer to let us both suffer.

“We should get some sleep. I have a feeling tomorrow is going to be a long day.”

Simon grumbles his response. “My rear is so sore, I don’t know that I’ll be able to sleep on it.”

“Then sleep on your stomach. That seems like an obvious fix.”

“Oh. Right.” I can feel his eyes on me, like he’s waiting for me to say something else. When I don’t, he breathes out a sigh. “Baz, can we - can we _talk_ about this? Just for a minute?”

I feel my heart climb into my throat. “I don’t know what we have to talk about.”

He growls, scuffing his foot against the hard ground. “You said you wouldn’t try to disregard this. Act like it didn’t happen. I don’t want to just ignore each other.”

“I’m not ignoring you. We’re talking right now, aren’t we?” I can’t tell him that I don’t know how to respond because I’m way too out of my depth with all this. I don’t think I could open my mouth and say that he makes my breath stop and my chest hurt, that looking at him makes me want to cry, because I _know_ that nothing can ever exist between us.

“Baz, will you - will you c’mere?”

“No.”

“I’ll come over there, then.”

“You will _not_.” He does anyways, crawling over on his hands and knees. He stops beside me, facing me with his legs curled under him and his hands resting in the grass between us as he leans close to me, forcing me to look at him.

“I know things are - complicated.” I snort at this serious understatement, but he keeps pushing forward, ignoring me. “But I can’t stop thinking about ‘ya. And whether or not you want to admit it, I know you feel the same way. I can feel it every time your eyes cross over me, Baz, your magic keeps telling me.”

I scan his face. There’s nothing really special about it, but in the light cast by the fire, it’s like he’s bathed in gold. The shadows on the side facing away from the flame are stark, captivating me in the angles they create down his cheeks, his jaw. I want to kiss them, trace them with my mouth.

So I do. I move slowly, and I can hear his breath hitch as I close the small gap between our faces. I start on the high bones of his cheek, closing my lips over his skin and trailing down. His hand comes up to the side of my face, stroking with his thumb, while his other hand rests on my chest, pressing just under my collarbone.

Without really realizing what I’m doing, I grab the backs of his legs and pull him to me, until he’s straddling my lap. I hear him whisper the ridiculous nickname he’s given me before he grabs my jaw and turns my face so our lips meet, my head tilting back to make up for the angle. He tastes like fire and power and something else, like maple, earthy and sweet. And his hands are everywhere - in my hair, cupping my face, kneading into my lower back. His fingers are rough and calloused, but right now they feel like silk where they turn my skin to stars.

 

**SIMON**

We kiss until the fire is nearly dead, fading to embers that crackle and hiss at us, trying to grasp our attention. I don’t pay it any mind until I realize that Baz is shivering under my hands, wracked with cold, and I can feel his skin is like ice.

“Holy hell, Baz, you’re freezing,” I whisper, kissing both of his cheeks before I clamber off his lap, turning to the fire. I grab for a handful of the wood we’d gathered earlier and toss it on the embers, then use my magic to make it flare up again, casting us once more in a warm glow. “Sit closer, there we go.” We both scoot in, and Baz puts his hands out toward the heat while I rub up and down his back.

When his shivers have abided and the darkness around us is impenetrable, we hurry to set out our gear to sleep. We don’t have a tent, which is a bit annoying, but at least the weather is clear. I’m about to crawl into my roll, but Baz says my name. He’s sitting on top of his mat, his legs crossed and his arms wrapped around his knees. The fire has died again so I can barely make out his face, but I can feel his magic, tentative and unsure.

I got and sit beside him, but I don’t touch him. “What is it?”

He doesn’t look at me. “I have nightmares. And - I get cold when I sleep.” His voice is unsteady and soft, so I have to strain to hear him. “Would you - could we -”

I’m not going to make him say it. I’m amazed he was able to even ask at all, with how prideful he is most of the time. Instead I take his hand and lift it to my lips, gently, and kiss his knuckles. “Of course.” He falls toward me, resting his head against my chest and making me laugh. “Honestly, you don’t even need to ask.” I tug him with me to my roll, and we both clamber inside. It’s awkward and close quarters, but his shivers fade again and he rolls over, so my front is pressed against his back.

As I wrap my arms around him, he lets out a sigh of relief, his fingers closing around my wrist.

 

**BASILTON**

The next morning, I’m awake bright and early, the sun forcing my eyes open. Sometime in the night I must have shifted, because I wake with my face barely inches from Simon’s, his mouth wide open while he sleeps. He’s all morning breath and soft curls in the sunlight cast over his face, and it’s a thrill of both fear and fondness when I realize I might be falling a little in love with him.

I don’t think he can hear my thoughts, but his eyes flutter open the next moment, sending me bolting upright, hurrying to crawl out of the bedroll before he can read the emotion on my face.

“Morning,” he yawns as he gets up as well, rubbing a hand through his hair. “Hell, it’s freezing this morning.”

“You’re telling me,” I grumble, glancing down at the frosted grass beneath my feet. I’m grateful we have all this winter gear, but I’m still frozen through, and I’m going to have to cast warming spells while we ride to keep myself from falling out of the saddle.

“At least we should reach the forest by nightfall,” Simon says, rummaging through one of the bags to find our small store of food. “Maybe we can stop at an inn for the night instead of camping out. We’d just have to disguise you a little, but that won’t be too hard.”

I glance at him. “Do you think I need a disguise?”

He shrugs. “You’re pretty noticeable, with those cheekbones and the way you carry yourself. You just walk like nobility.”

I latch onto the undercurrents of teasing in his tone as something to respond to. I’m much better at fighting. “Shall I just walk more like you then, slouching around like I’ve got lead in my shoulders?”

“Yeah, probably.” He’s not even fazed by my aggression, and just as quickly as it came, it goes out of me.

We eat a quick breakfast of cold bread and cheese before we climb onto our horses. Neither of us talks much, maybe because we’re not really sure of what we’re supposed to say to each other after sleeping in each other’s arms. But it’s not an unpleasant silence - just an odd one.

Despite his initial concerns on our departure, Simon does well on his mount, easily keeping pace with me. And he doesn’t complain, but when we stop for breaks, I notice him rubbing his behind with a grumpy expression.

I don’t get how he’s so kind, after everything that’s happened. Traveling like this in the middle of winter is a tall order, but he continues to take it in stride. He takes my hands during one of our rests, holding mine between his and casts warming spells. For a while after that, I don’t even feel the cold, not even as it whips across my face.

I’m impressed by the time we make, when mid-afternoon we can see the dark silhouettes of trees on the horizon.

“Is that the Wood?” Simon asks, voice breaking at the end of his question. We’ve slowed the horses to a trot as we pass a small village, but the map Ebb gave us says there should be another inn just on the edge of the woods. It’ll be a great place to ask around, see if anyone’s heard anything of this _Nicodemus_ , maybe prepare us for what lies under the canopy.

“I believe so.” He doesn’t say anything else, but when I glance over at him, his face looks like a mixture between nauseated and horrified.

“Are you alright, Simon?”

“‘M fine.” It’s weird for him to be so quiet like this, but I’m not about to press him. “Let’s get to the inn, I’m exhausted.”

It’s not long before we spot the inn, a basic two-story log building, resting just beyond where the trees begin to grow particularly close together. There’s not much traffic coming in and out, but the small stable outside is nearly full of horses, and the stable boy who takes our reins seems rather harried.

Inside, it’s blissfully warm, a massive hearth in the center of the floor flooding the room with heat. The innkeeper is a robust woman with an air of no-nonsense around her, so Simon is quick and succinct as he asks for a room. He blushes almost to the roots of his hair when she asks him if we’ll be needing one bed or two, glancing back at me before stammering out, “J-just one, I think.”

I’m very glad there’s a hood mostly obscuring my face.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Penelope and Agatha begin to plan. Simon talks to a monster hunter, and he and Baz realize they might be out of their depths with this 'Nicodemus.'

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the not-at-all anticipated fairly un-thrilling continuation of the officially longest fic i've written to date. welcome to my au hell

**SIMON**

“Get another one for my young friend here!” The man sitting across from me is starting to slur his words, while a wide and carefree grin spreads over his face. I’m trying to imitate him, but he’s too drunk to notice that I haven’t even finished one drink yet. One of the maids pointed me to him as a possible source of information; he’s a kind of monster hunter, apparently, and frequents this inn as a sort of base for his operations.

“Monster hunter?” I’d asked him when he introduced himself, leaning toward him interestedly. He was tipsy already when I first sat down, and very loose-lipped.

A swig of beer preceded his answer. “There’s all sorts of creepers and snakes in these woods, boy, don’tcha know it? Someone’s gotta keep ‘em at bay.”

“Wouldn’t that be the responsibility of the crown?” I asked innocently, taking a sip from my own drink and trying to keep my nose from wrinkling. “Why do you have to take care of it?”

“Pah! The crown don’t give a shit ‘bout what goes on out this way,” he spat. “Nor do they believe it. But I’ve seen ‘em! I kill ‘em!”

“Seen what?”

He leaned in, like he was about to tell me the world’s biggest secret. “Monsters _made_ of magic.”

I scoffed at him, playing my part. Out in the countryside, magic is scarce, with all of the magisters drawn to the city center where the school is. It’s gotten to the point that some of the townspeople on the distant edges of the kingdom don’t even believe in magic anymore, and when they come across it - it scares the shit out of them. “Magic? You’re havin’ me on.”

“I’m not!” he practically shouted, slapping the table with such a bang that I startled. “I’ve seen all sorts out there in the trees, men turnin’ to wolves, dragons, con’glermate creatures, blood-drinkers - an’ I killed the lot of ‘em!”

“I’m impressed,” I say now, even though something about this man is making my skin crawl, but I hide it well. “You must be very skilled.”

A loud belch meets my comment, and I lean back, trying to hide my general disgust. “Ain’t never met a monster I couldn’ kill. They’re all afraid o’ me!”

He’s so drunk by now that he’s practically falling off his chair, and I decide now’s my best chance. I lean forward again. “Even - Nicodemus?”

The red that’s been swelling in his cheeks drains a bit when he hears the name, and a scowl replaces his drunken arrogance. “ _Nicodemus_ ,” he spits, slamming his tankard on the table so hard that I jump. “That bloody bastard - _literally_. I’ll kill ‘im, then pull out all his damn teeth and make ‘em into a necklace.”

This is more than I could have hoped for. Baz’ll be floored when I tell him, since he’s trapped upstairs in our room, hiding from curious eyes. “You’ve met him, then?”

“Never had the pleasure,” he grumbles, nursing his drink again. “But when I do, mark my words, I’ll kill ‘im dead. Take his head off, set him on fire, whatever I gotta do.”

I feel a thrill of cold run across my neck. “You said bloody bastard - and fire. He’s - ?”

The hunter cuts me off. “A _vampire_ , tha’s righ’. Plague on me, lemme tell ‘ya - makin’ deals and issues out in the Wood, causin’ all sortsa’ trouble amongst them creatures. I’ll see his head on my wall sooner or later.”

I force out a laugh, then excuse myself, moving slowly and deliberately across the room before racing up the stairs. I can’t explain why that guy gave me the creeps, but my skin is still prickling with fear.

Baz is actually asleep when I go in the room, but he startles awake and sits up as I close the door. “How’d it go?”

Instead of answering, I just cross the room to the bed and clamber up beside him, folding myself into his arms. He lets out a _whuff_ of surprise but doesn’t argue, instead wrapping his arms around me and holding me to his chest.

After a while, I’m calm again and can tell Baz what I learned. “He just made me uncomfortable,” I say softly, holding his hand in my lap. “The way he was talking, and acting - so careless about life, even when it belongs to a magical creature. D’you think he’d kill us just as easily? We’re made of magic.”

“Maybe,” Baz says, absently running his thumb over the back of my hand. “But there’s a big difference between us and werewolves and vampires.”

“I didn’t even know vampires were real,” I admit. “You don’t think he’s having us on, do you?”

He shakes his head. “My aunt used to hunt them, so I know they’re real. She’s even got some teeth to prove it. Most of them are vicious, but often stick to hunting animals, because it’s too dangerous for them to attack humans.”

“So Ebb’s brother is a vampire. I wonder if she knows?”

“She must at least suspect. Remember what she said about him wanting to become ‘more than magic’? Being a vampire must be _more_ than magic, in a way.” Baz looks up at me, a grimace crossing his face. “This mission just became far more dangerous.”

I snort at this. “Y’think?”

“Simon.” His voice is so serious that I frown at him. “You don’t have to come with me. I can find Nicodemus on my own -”

“You think I’m afraid of some rotting vampire?” He doesn’t reply, looking back at our joined hands with a hard set to his chin. “Do you not want me to come with you?”

His jaw is working inside his closed mouth. “I want you to be safe.”

I lean closer to him, getting into his space so he has to look at me. “Safest place for me is with you, as far as I’m concerned. We’ll keep _each other_ safe.” His head drops toward my chest and he doesn’t reply, so we just sit there holding each other for a bit. He becomes less withdrawn when I tilt his head up with my finger so I can press our lips together. I clamber more fully into his lap, straddling his legs and leaning over him, so he has to reach up to keep our mouths together. He does.

He whispers my name over and over, and I whisper his as I’m grabbing at the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head, then doing the same with mine. His hands run across my chest, cold-tipped fingers pressing along the curves of my collarbones, down toward my navel, and filling my stomach with fire.

“You’re absolutely pox-ridden,” Baz growls, his hands suddenly grabbing me and throwing me down, so that he’s on top of me and I’m pressed against the pillows, breathless and beaming. “Who even has this many freckles?” His lips drop away from my mouth, moving down my neck and stopping any rebuttal I might have had.

 

**PENELOPE**

It only takes a few days for the Archmage to become so paranoid that he starts removing noble families from the capital.

My family is among the first. Someone got sloppy, and let it slip that we’ve been helping sympathizers to the Pitch family; so when the Archmage turned up on our doorstep with the full might of his military, we weren’t exactly surprised. But we also didn’t put up a fight, because we knew now wasn’t the time. So we loaded up everything we could on horseback and in carriages, and left the city behind.

The prince asked me to stay in the city and keep an eye on things, but there was no way I could stay while my family was removed. I would have been in far more danger of being tossed in a dungeon, or worse.

It’s a short journey to our country estate, only a few days’ riding, even carrying everything with us. We’re not long arrived before I explain to my parents that I have to go, to assist where I can in the resistance. They listen to my explanation, my plan and destination, and give me their blessing to do what I have to do.

“But be _careful_ , Penelope,” my mum says, kissing the top of my head as I’m preparing to ride out again. “You know well how powerful the Archmage is, how wide-reaching his influence is. Be careful, and don’t trust anyone outside of those you know to be out of his reach.”

“I know, Mum,” I say fondly, kissing her cheek in return. “I’ll send word when I reach the Wellbeloves’ estate.” Agatha’s home seems the best place for me to start. I’m not acquainted with the Pitch family, but they’re infamous for being - well, evil. Maybe not evil, but cruel and difficult, for sure.

And Agatha’s estate is closer.

I ride quickly, taking no real breaks, and manage to reach the manor not long after night has fallen. The torches that light the entryway seem eerie in the darkness, but I hand my horse’s reins to a stable boy and approach the guards on either side of the door.

“Name yourself,” one of them says warningly, blocking my path with a spear.

My voice is hard as a rock. “I am Lady Penelope, heir to the noble Bunce family. I’m here to see Lady Agatha. She’s a friend of mine.”

The guards lean together, muttering something, before one of them disappears into the hold. “We’re sending word to Lady Agatha. If she knows you, she will grant you entrance.”

We don’t have to wait long. The other guard returns with Agatha following close behind. I’m glad to actually see her face, since I wasn’t completely certain she _had_ made it out of the capital, despite what I told the prince - Baz. She beams at me as I throw my arms around her. “Penelope! I’m so happy to see you’re well. We just got word about your family’s sentence from the capital, I was worried.”

She leads me into the building, the inside bathed in warm light and decorated with fine art and golden filigree. My eyes move over the many surfaces, but I reply to her. “It wasn’t much of a surprise, since we were basically in open opposition against the Archmage and his nonsense. My family reached the country estate this morning, and I rode straight here.” I turn my eyes to her. “I hope you don’t mind the intrusion.”

“Goodness, no,” Agatha says firmly, starting up what is probably the grandest staircase I’ve ever seen. “I’m quite glad for it. It’s strange to be so out of things here in the middle of nowhere, compared to being in the thick of it in the capital.” Her eyes widen at me. “We only just learned about Basilton as well, that he and the Archmage’s apprentice are actually alive.”

“Oh, you heard, did you?” We’re in what seem to be her rooms now, the receiving room large and grand and just as finely decorated as the rest of the house.

“You knew?” She settles into a plush-looking armchair, and I sit in a similar one opposite her. “Have you seen them?”

I shake my head. “Not really. Simon contacted me through magic, and let me know they’re alive and what they’re doing, but that was a couple of days ago. How’d you find out?”

Agatha looks thoughtful. “The Pitch’s contacted my father a day or two ago, about joining them in a coup against the Archmage. My father is _not_ happy about it, but we’ve had an alliance with the Pitch’s for ages, and will be lending our militia to the cause.”

I puff out a breath. “I can’t believe it’s coming down to this. _War_ , and with the Archmage, of all people. It seems so strange that all this has only happened in the span of a week.”

“I know,” Agatha says quietly, her fingers clasped tightly in her lap. “I feel so useless, just sitting out here.”

A grin spreads across my face as I lean toward her. “Well then, _my lady_ \- let’s get to work.”

 

**BASILTON**

I open my eyes to a thrill of fear, a chill racing down my spine and sending me upright in bed. Beside me, Simon jumps like he’s been stabbed, making a noise like a strangled animal. It’s still dark out, the pure black of a night with no moon, but I know immediately we’re not alone in the room. I fill my hands with fire.

There’s no shade this time, no visible adversary - but smoke is pouring through the cracks around the door, purple and unnatural. It’s moving so quickly that in a few moments, before I’ve even had time to react, the room is filled with it. Thick, cloying smoke - and the moment I inhale, it immediately sets my lungs on fire.

“Simon,” I manage to croak, unable to hold my breath against the poisonous gas. The fire in my hands goes out while I’m scrambling to find a way to breathe, but nothing I do keeps it out. Simon is barely visible in the dark, but the sound of both of us wheezing painfully fills my head.

Tiny lights start appearing on the edges of my vision, and I realize I’m about to die. I’m almost ready to come to peace with it - but then Simon suddenly erupts with a blinding white light, which encases both his body and mine in some kind of shimmering cocoon. The shell of air around us is breathable, and we both take deep, thankful gasps.

“What in the hell -?” Simon’s eyes are streaming, and I reach up and wipe away the wetness before turning my gaze to the room again. We’re still not alone.

The light from Simon illuminates the shade hovering at the end of the bed, glaring down at us. It’s no longer disguised; the face of the Archmage is clear, all the way down to that stupid fucking mustache. “Cease fighting the inevitable,” he booms, slamming his ghostly hands down on the bed frame. “Your deaths will be for the good of the kingdom!”

Before he can say another word, I try something I’ve never done before; I pull from the magic surrounding us, _Simon’s_ magic, and use it to imbue another ball of fire in my palms. I feel his magic mixing with mine, practically exploding in my hands, before I launch it straight through the shade’s heart. A screech rends the air as the shade erupts into mist and then disappears completely. My fire catches on the smoke that’s still in the room around us and combusts in a frightening firestorm, but when the flames clear, the gas is gone as well.

We’re both silent for a moment before Simon says, “Well, that happened.”

I puff out a breath. “Yes, it did. And we need to go.” I push up out of the bed, breaking the cocoon around us, and start gathering our belongings. I hear the bedsprings creak as Simon does the same.

“Because he knows where we are.”

“Exactly. I’m willing to bet he’s got a bounty on us, and someone in this inn must have recognized us and reported it to him.” This is met with silence, as we quickly finish shoving things away. I try to argue as Simon thunks down several coins on the bedside table, but he insists it wasn’t the innkeeper who reported us.

“We still have to _pay_ for the room, Baz. Let’s go.” I shake my head at him but don’t press further. He goes to open the door, and I reach out to stop him.

“Wait.” He looks at me questioningly as I take a deep breath and put my hands against the wood. I start muttering a spell and Simon steps back, clearly observing me now. I imagine I must know far more about magic than he does, even being apprenticed to the Archmage. It’s a spell I learned ages ago, to determine if there are any people in another room that might block your path. My magic is far-reaching and spreads down the whole corridor, and even downstairs into the main part of the inn. “Alright, it’s clear. We can go.”

We slip out the door silently, and Simon doesn’t speak again until we’re carefully and quietly saddling up our horses in the dim light of his weird glowing spell. “Can you show me that spell you used? To check if the coast was clear?”

“It’s a simple one. I’ll teach you the theory of it next time we have a rest.” He grins at me, and my heart skips dangerously. “All done?”

He tightens another strap, then nods. “Ready to go.”

Both of us vault into the saddles. Our horses are rested and eager, which is good, because I expect we’ve another long day of riding. We’re careful as we leave the stables, walking them at a slow pace to avoid the loud clattering of hooves. And it can be dangerous to ride in the dark, with no way of seeing any unevenness in the ground, but the horses do well as they carry us into the trees, away from one danger and into the waiting arms of another.

 

**AGATHA**

I wake up later than usual, sunlight streaming in brightly from the large bay windows. Penelope is passed out on the pale pink chaise at the end of my bed, her wild mane of curly hair spread prettily across the cushion.

We were awake late into the night, discussing ideas and possibilities of how we might be of actual help in the resistance against the Archmage. She wants to be in the center of it all, throwing proverbial (and literal) punches and spurring the people into action.

“But it’s _dangerous_ ,” I argued. “You’re going to get yourself hurt if you’re not careful.”

Penelope waved her hand at me as she wandered between my bookshelves, peering at spines. “Pain is temporary. Besides, the cause is far more important than you or I.”

“Speak for yourself,” I grumbled, but she didn’t seem to hear me.

“Anyways, there’s no _way_ I’m letting Simon or Baz take all the glory. And you _know_ they’ll be in the middle of it, so that’s where I’ll be too.” She came back over and sat down before me, holding a few books under her arm. “Don’t you think?”

I sighed at her. “Yes, but that doesn’t mean _we_ need to be there.” That nickname - _Baz_ \- was weird to hear, after years of everyone addressing him as Basilton.

Now, I finally clamber out of bed, stretching as I do. Penelope is impossible to argue with, and I gave up rather quickly. But she’s smart and so am I, so we had a fairly good time making plans after I decided to just agree with her on the bigger things.

I was so relieved when I found out the boys were still alive, even knowing how far in over their heads they must be at this point, just like we all are. Penelope filled me in on what they’re planning, the man they’re looking for in the Wavering Wood, which is well-known to be full of dark creatures and wicked things. And with the Archmage on their tail, who _knows_ what kind of evil magic he’ll cook up for them?

Everything is in flux. The Archmage is slippery like a fish, and has always been in the years that I’ve known him. Standing in open opposition to someone so powerful and influential is dangerous for everyone involved, for everyone in the entire kingdom.

But Baz is powerful too - and he’s working with the Archmage’s apprentice, who’s well-known to be even _more_ powerful than his master, but untrained. Their current plan seems unrelated to what we’re focusing on (the coup, removing the Archmage from power) but maybe it ties in somewhere, somehow.

Maybe it’s our job to figure that out.

My parents had left the capital the morning after the masquerade, before anyone knew anything was wrong. When I came flying onto the estate that same evening and told them everything that had happened, they were aghast.

“However can we secure your place in court now?” my mother had gasped, dropping dramatically onto one of the sofas.

“ _That’s_ what you’re upset about?” I’d practically screamed, startling both of my parents. “Basilton is _dead_ , the Archmage is seizing power, and you’re upset about my _prospects_?”

My father had attempted to placate me. “Of course we’re upset for his loss, Agatha,” he’d said soothingly. “But we have to move forward and think of the future, _your_ future.” I’d left them them, shutting myself in my room and seeing no one for two days, until the word came that Basilton was actually _alive._ Alive, and calling the families to war.

A war that’s to begin this morning, it seems, as I go downstairs and find my father speaking to our captain. He salutes me, and I nod in response before addressing my father. “Is the muster finished?”

He glances at me. “Indeed. Preparations are being finalized, and by the end of the week, the march to the capital begins. We will be going first the manor of the Pitch family, and marching on from there.”

“We?”

A sigh. “Yes, I’m to go along with the battalion. We ride from here tonight.”

I didn’t realize he was going with them. “I - I hope all goes well, father.” He smiles at me, and stoops to press a kiss to my temple.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Baz and Simon delve deep into the Wavering Wood. Penelope encounters an obstacle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> surprise bitch  
> bet you thought you'd seen the last of me   
> (aka i'm sorry this has taken me so long i'm strugglin)

**BAZ**

No one follows us in the light of the morning, and as the sun begins to rise, we both breathe a little easier. Dark creatures are far less likely to come out in the daytime. 

We rode deep into the woods during the night, but the further in we delve, the thicker together the trees grow. The light is even fading some, as the canopy overhead blocks more of the sun’s rays. It gets so difficult to navigate our horses around the roots and trunks that we eventually set them free, sending them off in a direction we hope is toward the inn. 

“We may regret that later,” Simon says as we watch them disappear through the trunks. I nudge him with my elbow. 

“You can just teleport us again,” I tease, making him roll his eyes at me. 

“I really can’t.” I snicker as we turn and begin clambering carefully over roots and rocks. There’s no snow - but even if there was, I’m not certain it would even reach the ground through the thickness of the canopy. 

Simon barely speaks, and I can feel his mood swarming his magic into a storm, so powerful it’s almost tangible. I can tell he’s nervous, but I think it even goes past that - it’s like he’s scared of something. 

Finally, when I can practically feel the air between us sizzling, I say, “Is there something wrong, Simon?” 

“No,” comes his response, immediate, unconvincing. I wait a few beats, until he says again, “...No.” And then, “Maybe.” 

I stop in my tracks and turn to look at him, furrowing my eyebrows. He nearly runs into me and takes a moment to right himself. “You can go on all you want about me confiding in you, and then keep something from me that’s obviously bothering you? You’re practically on fire right now, Simon. What’s going on?”

He glares at me for a beat, but then deflates all at once, his shoulders drooping. “How much do you know about me? About my past? Did the Archmage tell you anything?”

I shrug and lean against a tree. “I know about as much as anyone else. Mostly rumors, but that you just sort of appeared in the capital, with no memories and leaking magic, more magic than any of us ever have access to. That the Archmage took you in, to train you since you were so powerful.” 

Simon continues to stall, scuffing his shoe against a root. “Well… some of my memories came back. And then they all did. It took a while - honestly, a lot of them came back to me just yesterday - but they’re all there now.” I just stare at him, so he keeps going. “I was  _ here _ , Baz. In the Wood. By myself the whole time, just after my mother died. Constantly under attack from some beast or another. I barely escaped with my life.” 

“Why were you here, though? How did you end up in the Wood? Your mother didn’t die in here, did she?” 

He shakes his head, looking more sure even as he says it. “I think my father brought me here and just - left me.” 

“Your  _ father _ ? Who’s your father?” 

His mouth sets in a firm line before he says, impossibly soft, “The Archmage.” 

 

**PENELOPE**

I ride out from the Wellbelove’s manor the same day as their militia. Where the road forks, they head west, toward the Pitch’s, and I depart east, toward mine. 

“Send word, won’t you?” Agatha had implored me while I saddled my horse. “I hate just - sitting here. And now with Father and all the soldiers leaving, it’ll be so  _ empty _ .” 

“I’ll send you updates, don’t worry,” I reassured her, stopping in my preparation for a moment to smile at her. “I won’t let you fret out here alone for too long. But I have to go and help my family lead our troops, there’s no way I’m staying behind.” She understood, but I saw her watching me from the gate, even as her father rode in the opposite direction. 

By the time I reach my home, the sun has already gone down, and a steward tells me my parents have already gone to bed. 

“They will depart for Pitch Manor in the morning, my lady,” the steward says stiffly, “and thought they’d get an early rest tonight.” I agree passively and go to my own room, packing the few things I’ll need into a sack. I barely even sleep, excited and nervous as I am for what tomorrow will hold. I’ve never seen Pitch Manor, but I’ve heard it’s impossibly grand, and ancient, dating back to the first mages thousands of years ago. 

I don’t know if they’ll begin the attack without Baz. He’s the crown prince - without him, there’s not really a war to be fought. But I still haven’t heard from him or Simon, so for all I know, they both could be -

I shake my head vigorously. That kind of thought serves nobody. They’re both alive, and just when we’ve given them up, they’ll ride in with all the answers and take charge. I finally fall asleep with this thought, and dream of sword fights and explosions of magic. 

The morning comes quickly, and I hurry to dress and go to my parents. I find them in the entrance hall - my mother, shouting last-minute orders for preparation, and my father, poring over a map haphazardly pinned to the wall.

“Penelope,” my mother greets me darkly as I bound down the stairs to them. “You look dressed for riding. Going somewhere?” I stop in my tracks, staring hard at her. 

“Yes,” I say abruptly, “I’m going with you.” 

She’s already shaking her head. “You most certainly are  _ not _ . You will remain here and look after your siblings, and the land, while we’re gone. As the second heir of the Bunce name -” 

“I don’t give a damn about my name!” I shout over her, not caring that I’m being rude, or whining like a child. “I’m not sitting out while the entire kingdom is at war! Premal is going with you, so why can’t I?!” 

“You will, if I say so!” she shouts back, making my father wince. “Which I do! You will  _ stay here! _ ” 

“I won’t!” My mother storms over to me, and I stand my ground, glaring up into her face. “I’m going. With you.” 

She looks almost sympathetic. I think there are tears in my eyes, but I dash them away quickly. “Penelope, honey…” Her hands lifts to cup my cheek, and I almost flinch. “I’m sorry.” Before I can register her meaning, the room suddenly grows bright around me. 

“No -” I gasp as everything reels dangerously. I don’t even feel my body hit the floor. 

When my eyes fly open, I realize I’m not in the entrance hall anymore, but what I recognize as one of the towers - with the door shut tight. I surge upward to the door, slamming against it with all my might, to no avail. Every spell I cast on it is repelled. I even try to blow it up, but the spell fizzles into a spark and then dies. 

I fly to the tiny window and see the lines of our soldiers petering into the middle distance. I can’t help it; I burst into tears, more out of frustration than anything. 

I’m feeling very sorry for myself as I flop onto the floor and bury my face in my hands, and I stay that way for a long time. The sun has started to sink beneath the horizon when the door suddenly bursts open as though blasted, filling the air with dust that makes me sneeze. 

“Penelope?” a prim voice says through the silence, and when the dust clears, I see Agatha standing in the doorway, staring at me incredulously. “You got locked in a  _ tower _ ?” 

“Agatha!” I cry, leaping at her and tackling her in a massive hug. “You’re a gem, an absolute goddess. My parents wanted to keep me from following them into the fray, so they locked me in here!” 

She blinks at me. “Goodness. I’m glad I followed you.” 

“You must have left just after I did, did you ride overnight?” She nods. “Why, though? I thought you didn’t want to fight.” 

Agatha sticks her chin out. “I  _ don’t _ . But I thought - well, I thought we could go find Basilton and the apprentice. The war can’t start without them, and they could be in danger.” 

I beam at her and pull her into another bone-crushing hug. “You’re right. Let’s go find the idiots and drag them back.” 

 

**SIMON**

The dragon that slithers across our path thankfully doesn’t notice us, but Baz and I stay huddled against a tree long after it’s passed, breathing shakily. 

“I think it’s safe now,” Baz says finally, and we break apart like nothing happened and carry on. We’re constantly tripping over roots and rocks, and I’m glad there’s no snow obscuring the obstacles. When Baz voices the same thing a few minutes later, I chuckle. “What’s funny?”

“Nothing,” I say honestly. “We just think alike.” He scoffs at this but doesn’t argue, and we continue in silence for a bit longer. I’m worried he’s still mulling over my revelation earlier, about my father. I have no clue how to proceed myself, but I don’t want Baz to hate me by association.

But when he speaks after a while, it’s not about the Archmage at all. “What do you think Nicodemus will tell us?” he asks, so quietly that at first I don’t register what he said.

“Wha’? Oh,” I interject as he opens his mouth to repeat himself. “I don’t know. Maybe some secret that will allow us to…” I don’t finish for a moment, the words cloying and thick in my throat. Despite everything that we’ve uncovered, my memories returning to me, I’m having a hard time reconciling the Archmage and all his faults in my head. 

The Archmage. My  _ father. _ Murderer of a queen and Baz’s mum. My protector, who took me in when I was lost and afraid. Tyrant of a city and a kingdom which does not belong to him. A scholar, with years of magical training and knowledge in his back pocket. My father, who wiped my memories and dumped me in the Wavering Wood as a child so I would grow up to be strong.

“To kill the Archmage,” I finish after a painful pause. Baz looks over his shoulder at me sympathetically. “Or maybe he’ll have a weapon, or know some ally who can help us. Who knows? Your mum wouldn’t send us on some random goose chase.” I frown. “Would she?” 

“Of course not,” Baz says icily. “I just don’t know what good a vampire will really be to us. Call me skeptical, but they’re not generally trustworthy.”

“You never know,” I say thoughtfully, carefully stepping over a particularly massive route. “He’s Ebb’s twin. He might not be so bad.” 

Baz’s voice is still chilly. “Oh, sure. Someone who  _ chose _ to become a vampire might not be that bad.” I don’t reply at all this time, and we both lapse once more into silence. 

I’m not sure how far we’ve gone. The trees are starting to change shape, becoming more gnarled and twisted, older. There’s a constant crawling under my skin, and when I let my magic rise to the surface and simmer there, it only makes the feeling worse. I think Baz can feel it, because he starts shaking his head, like he’s trying to get rid of a pesky fly in his face.

“Baz-” I start to say, when suddenly I feel a tingling on the back of my neck, like there’s something behind me. I whip around and see nothing, and I hear Baz say my name in question. I turn back to him in time to pull him away as a massive beast closes its jaws right where he’d been standing. 

“Seven hells!” he screams as we tumble away, the beast roaring in frustration. It’s the strangest creature I’ve ever seen: it has two heads, one of a ferocious lion and the other of a goat, which seems like a strange combination. Rising up over its heads in a long scaly tail, tipped with another head, this time of a snake with fangs that look nearly the length of my forearm.

“Move!” I shout as the beast lunges toward us again, and we narrowly miss getting eaten. “What the fuck is this thing?” 

“It’s a chimera!” Baz yells back, staggering back with me. We’re still facing it, and it’s watching us like it’s trying to decide what to do with us. I put my hand over my hip and feel the hilt of my sword materialize. The Archmage had taught me how to summon the Sword of Mages, but I didn’t figure I’d ever need it. 

But I whip it up and swing just as the chimera lunges at us again, only to find the blade passes right through it. I feel the monster pass through me, and realize Baz cast a shield over me at the last second. 

“When did you get a fucking sword?!” he shouts at me, yanking me out of the creature’s path. 

“Long story!” I whip around, looking for the monster, but find that we’re suddenly alone. “Where did it go?!” 

The crawling feeling on my neck returns, but this time it’s accompanied by a smell like smoke and wildfires. “Fuck - get down!” I tackle Baz behind a boulder just as the air is suddenly filled with fire, bright and orange and impossibly hot. “Great. It can breathe fire.” 

Baz seems to be going through a crisis beside me, muttering to himself and cursing intermittently. “I - I can’t remember a spell! You have to do something, Simon!” 

“Do  _ what _ ?!” I shriek at him, ducking to the side as the stream of fire bursts around the edge of the boulder and burns the shit out of my arm. 

“ANYTHING!” Baz screams back, smacking me on the chest. 

“It’s gossamer! My sword can’t do anything!” 

“You’re a fucking mage, aren’t you? The most powerful among us, or whatever the fuck the Archmage was always saying!” His eyes are wide and panicked, and the reflection of the fire in them tells me it’s all around us. “Perform a fucking miracle!” 

I close my eyes, my own frustration and fear building in my chest. And I realize it’s not only that, but my magic, welling up, white-hot and ready to burst. At the last second, I grab Baz and pull him against me, and the world disappears around us. 


End file.
